More to Come
by Nose-Forever-Stuck-In-Books
Summary: Francesca of Nond doesn't care that she is fourteen and most pages started training at ten. She doesn't care that she spent three years in the convent. She doesn't care that most of her family wouldn't try for their shield if the the world depended on it. She wants to be a knight.
1. Arrival

A/N: So this popped into my head and I couldn't get rid of it. If you are reading this, please review; I want opinions – they can be good, bad, or indifferent. Reviews make me stupid happy dances ;p

So a quick summary_: If you all remember Francis of Nond died in during the Sweating Sickness in Alanna: The First Adventure. (Now my imagination comes in.) After that his older cousin, Paxton became heir of the house of Nond. But since Francis's death no Nond has tried for their shield; until now. Francesca of Nond convinces her family to allow her to try – but she has to wait for Keladry of Mindelan to pass the Ordeal before she is allowed to enter page training. Now that the Lady Knight is off fighting in the north, Francesca is in the palace._

Francesca of Nond bowed to the training master; beside her, her father did the same. Sir Paxton of Nond was rarely seen at court since the disgrace of finding out that his former squire had paid men to kidnap Lady Keladry's maid. _That, _Francesca thought wryly, _and the fact that he almost married me off to the man. _

Training master Padraig haMinchi looked her over. "You claim no Gift, is that correct?"

Francesca paused for barely a breath before replying. "That is correct, my lord." His eyes sharpened on her, as though he's noticed the hesitation. He continued on with the rules that all the pages must be given. Except that, naturally, he added one. "A boy may not be in your room with the door close. The same is true if you are in a boys' room. If I find you in such a situation, you will be dismissed at once. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord." Francesca replied, eyes down cast. People often said she was like her cousin Francis in every way – except of course the fact that she was a girl. He dismissed them to say goodbye. Francesca and her father were not particularly close. The first time she'd looked at Joren of Stone Mountain Francesca had warned her father that he didn't want to be tangled in the boys' fate. He hadn't listened. That, coupled with the fact that he had sent her to the convent – she'd only spent three years there; and it had taken a lot of talking and begging to get out.

Francesca was led to her room by a servant named Salam. Instead of unpacking she went into the privy and stared at her reflection. She was – as her mother said – a Nond, through and through. Nond's – she'd been told many times – tended to be tall, broad and blonde, with dark eyes. Apparently the only thing that she'd gotten from her mother was her blue-green eyes and the Sight. Francesca knew that if anyone found out that she was a seer, she would be dismissed from training at once. She didn't care. She went years between prophesies and - Shakith willing – it would be years yet again.

The girl sighed and went to sit on her bed. She rubbed at her face with both hands. She hated that she looked 'just like' a cousin that she'd never met – who'd died before her parents had met. She knew looking at her caused her grandmother – really her father's aunt by marriage, but grandmother was easier – sorrow, because she saw her dead son. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself Franny,_ a voice that sounded like her best friend scolded. _You're where you want to be. Aren't you?_

If Aisha was here that would be exactly what she'd say. Francesca's smile faded when she thought about how much the friend also wanted to train as a knight; she'd even begged her parents to allow her to be a member of the Queen's Riders if nothing else. But they wouldn't hear of it. They might lose their son to war or combat, they had told her, but they would not lose their daughter. The bell rang and Francesca left her room to wait in the hall like all the other pages. There were four others. All looked about ten – the normal age for pages – Francesca was fourteen. The boy with the room farthest from hers was blonde and pale. With one look Francesca knew that this would be the younger Stone Mountain boy. One boy to the right of her had black hair and blue eyes – Francesca would bet almost anything that his was one of the younger princes. Before she truly got the chance to examine the other four the training master and older pages strolled down the hall.

As the training master pointed to each boy – demanding their name and fief, then a sponsor – Francesca put names to faces. The blonde boy was Gavin of Stone Mountain, who was sponsored by Thomas of Tirragen; Price Liam was sponsored by Fianola of Blue Harbor – the only other girl here. Marrek of Irontown was taken by Turomot of Mcayahill, George of Whitethorn was sponsored by a Bazhir; Heastif ibn Alhaz. Finally the training master pointed to Francesca. "Francesca of Nond, my lord." As she disliked being the center of attention, Francesca had mastered the ability to pitch her voice so that she could be heard clearly.

"Who will sponsor her?" Francesca did not look at the other pages, so she did not see the speaker.

"May I, my lord?"

"Very well, Alan of Pirate's Swoop." Francesca fell into place next to her sponsor – noting all the things he pointed out to her to avoid, or remember. Francesca swallowed several times and squeezed her eyes shut, a headache building behind her eyes. If only she could hold it off until she was sitting. She'd be fine – there was no pressure in her throat or jaw that indicated that a prophecy was coming. Somehow she made it they had barely sat when the vision slammed into her.

_Alan stood in the practice courts, his sword in hand. Francesca stood not too far away watching him dual Fianola. _

"_Who's expected to win?" A voice nearby asked. Turning, Francesca found Lord Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak. _

"_Could be either, my lord." Francesca responded. "Alan is taller, but Fianola works harder."_

"_Are you next up?" He asked, sounding amused. _

"_No, my lord. I just thought I come watch the show."_

"_Oh? Is seeing them dual so entertaining?" _

"_No, but rumor has it that Alan's mom is sending a potential knight master to speak with him. His reaction. That is the show I want to see."_

When the vision ended Francesca realized that she and the other pages were standing. She tuned in just to hear everyone respond to the end of the blessing. She shook slightly as she sat.

"So are you always this quiet? Or are you just in awe of Alan, because of who his mom is?" Francesca looked over at Fianola and blinked once.

"I have nothing to say," she mumbled.

"Leave her alone, Fia. You were quieter when you started." Alan told the other girl firmly.

"You're pretty tall for a ten year old," Fianola sighed. "I'm jealous."

"According to my mother, my family tends towards height," Francesca told her with a wry edge to her voice. "And I'm a bit older than ten."

"Really? Alan and I started at twelve, as well. Welcome to the club."

"I'm fourteen," Francesca muttered into her roll, hoping no one would hear her. Unfortunately Alan did, and chocked on his drink.

"You're the same age as us?" That got the whole table's attention. Francesca kept her eyes on her plate – refusing to risk meeting anyone's eyes. "Why did you start so late?"

Francesca sighed. "It took me that long to convince my parents to allow it."

"Why," asked Prince Liam. "Are they so against female warriors?"

"Not at all," Francesca told him shaking her head. "They're that against _knights_. They begged me to join the Queen's Riders. I wanted to earn my shield."

There was silence for a long moment. Alan broke it. "You're going to have to explain that for us."

Francesca sighed again, she hated explaining herself. "I don't _have _to explain anything." She muttered rebelliously, forgetting that apparently everyone at the table had perfect hearing. She remembered when they all laughed. "My father had a younger cousin who tried for his shield and died as a page. Since then no Nond has entered page training. My older brother chose to join the King's Own."

When they finish dinner the entire group; Alan, Fianola, Liam, and Traver of Mindelan – a second-year and the lady knight's nephew – all went on a tour of the palace. They claimed that it was for both her and Liam's benefit – Francesca knew better – the prince probably knew the palace better than any of the others, but she didn't call them on it. Fianola showed her some exercises to strengthen her arms and back while the boys looked on, surprisingly none of them made any comments other than to offer new exercise. Alan offered to teach her some hand-to-hand that the Shang masters didn't teach.

When she fell into bed that night Francesca fell asleep without her normal problems.


	2. Life in the Palace part 1

A/N: I own only the characters that no one recognizes. I hope you enjoy! I'm not sure I like this chapter. It seems kind of disjointed.

Thanks to: **missgrant**: I'm glad you like it and thank you for the review! And of course we will see some of our old favs! I think one might pop up either this chapter or the next. xP

**Hush**: I don't know who you are, but thank you for the review. Never fear! All questions will be answered in time.

Francesca was woken at dawn the next morning by knocking on the door. When she opened it Fianola grinned at her. "Get dress, and come on." The older girl ordered. Grumbling about people who didn't know how to be _polite_ when they wake someone up, Francesca did as she was ordered. Fianola lead her on a run around the palace ground. They would pause at infrequent intervals to drop into push-up or other exercises that would help the two girls keep up with the boys. They made it back to their rooms just before the bell that signaled the start of the day rang.

"Do you do that every morning?"

Fianola replied with a shrug. "Mostly. If I need more practice with the staff or hand-to-hand or something I practice that instead."

"Why," Francesca asked before she could stop herself.

"Before I entered page training, I saw a joust. Lord Wyldon of Cavall against Lady Knight – she was a squire then – Keladry of Mindelan." Francesca wondered if Fianola was aware of the awe in her voice. "She remained in the saddle. Afterwards my sister, a friend, and I went to speak with her. She gave us some advice when we told her we wanted to go into training."

The two girls parted way to get ready for the day. It was their last day to 'laze about', according to the training master. After breakfast Alan, Traver, and Fianola led her and Liam to get palace uniforms and showed them to each classroom they would be 'forced to endure'. The day flew by; when Francesca laid down that night she decided that life at the palace wouldn't be that bad.

The next morning she rolled out of bed at Fianola's knock and let the other girl in while she changed. They went on another run and were headed back when – as they turned a corner something small, golden-brown and compact launched itself at Francesca's chest. The impact knock the girl back and without conscious thought her arms came up to grab the projectile. She looked down to meet a pair of green-gold eyes.

"What are you doing you thrice-cursed creature!" Francesca dropped the bobcat, who then began cleaning himself - apparently not seeing why the twolegger was unhappy and yelling.

"Friend of yours," Fianola asked with poorly disguised laughter.

"At the moment? No, just the cause of some bruises." That caused Fianola to lose her battle with the laughter she was trying to hide. Francesca huffed and headed for her room, ignoring the bobcat that followed her like a shadow.

"How in the world did you end up with a pet bobcat?"

"He's not a pet," Francesca said as the cat hissed. "I found him as a kit – his mama was dead, so I took him to one of the maids. She has cat-magic; he comes and goes as he pleases. I call him Rain."

"Why?"

"It was raining the day I found him." Fianola gave her an odd look before heading to her room.

Rain settled himself on Francesca's bed, ignoring the girl's dirty look. "I can't have pets. Go to the Wildmage if you have to stay." When the servant knocked on the door Francesca threw a blanket over Rain before opening the door. She ignored the thrashing blankets that were Rain. When she'd finished dressing, Francesca rushed out of her room and nearly ran into Liam, and the others. They were herded off to breakfast – Francesca ate what the others' had put on her plate, though her stomach protested at the very thought of food, she knew she'd need the energy.

"So do you know how to use any weapons?" Francesca glanced up at Alan then back down before answering.

"Yes, my brother taught me a bit of hand-to-hand, staff, sword and with the bow."

Traver whistled low. "I'm impressed. How'd you get him to do that?"

"I told him I wanted to join the Riders," Francesca admitted, shamefaced. "He didn't know my real plan until a month or so ago."

"Is your family really that against you becoming a knight? I mean, I know you said that the other night, but…"

"My family is afraid." Francesca told them with a sigh. "And I didn't tell my brother because he never asked – that and my family thought that I'd never be able to become a knight."

"Why," Fianola asked.

_Because have you ever heard of a seer that was a knight? What happens if I get a vision in the middle of battle, or a joust, or practice? Does my body just freeze? _Francesca just shrugged, keeping her fears to herself. They took their plate to the washers and headed off to the practice courts.

Francesca watched the Shang masters, standing towards the back. She watched as they taught each of the first years how to fall. When it was her turn to be thrown Francesca offered her hand and was unable to even attempt to hold back the vision before it slammed into her full force.

_She was looking up at the sky. 'I'm flying,' was her only thought before she slammed into the ground. As she tried to get her breath back something large, white and soft nudged her face. She sat up she saw her horse. At the other end of the tilting lane she saw a knight – both of them were wearing padding a glance around revealed that they were on the practice courts._

"_Feel up to another go?" the knight called out._

"_Sure," Francesca muttered. "My family already thinks I'm insane – might as well prove them right."_

"How'd you manage to land perfectly?" Traver's question came at the tail end of the vision.

"Umm… I told you I had some training. I guess I was lucky." Francesca hated her visions. She never knew what was happening when she had them. When the bell rang they headed off to learn staff fighting. Francesca was a nervous wreck – she never knew _what_ triggered her visions. She knew it was probably stupid but she always hoped that if she ignored them, then maybe they'd stop.

She did well enough with the bow that the teacher told her to change from long to short then recurved bow – just to see where her talent was. When the training master announced it was time for riding all of the new pages ran. Francesca maintained pace with Traver, wishing that she'd been allowed to bring her horse from Nond. Night had been a thirteenth birthday present. She was a large black mare that – according to her brother – had come from the finest herd from the Bazhir.

Reaching the stables Francesca spotted a mare to rival her Night for beauty and grace. She moved toward the mare swiftly – praying that no one already claimed her. The mare was a grey with a dappled pattern of white and sliver that resembled snowfall.

"She'd picky miss." Francesca turned towards the voice. The man had straw colored hair that stuck out at odd angles. Francesca looked back at the horse.

"I'll take her. I think we'll do alright together. What's her name?" The man frowned at her.

"Snowstorm," Francesca nodded, and began to tack up Snowstorm. She was one of the first pages to get out there. When everyone had arrived and the training master gave the order to mount up, Francesca did so with ease. Her family may have been against her earning her shield, but her father always said that no child of his would have problems riding – male or female. While they pages were putting their horses through their paces Snowstorm proved the man in the stable right. It began with little things – making her repeat commands, going too fast or too slow, small bucks.

Eyes narrowed, Francesca tightened her grip on the reins. She leaned forward slightly. "Pull as many tricks as you want. But I think you'd prefer to be out here working than being stuck in the stables." By the time they took the horses back to their stalls Snowstorm had begun to behave.

Fianola and Francesca ran the hill – most of the boys walked. Entering her room revealed a sleeping Rain. A quick wash was all she managed – and all she expected – before hurrying to lunch. Francesca sat at the table that Alan, Fianola and Traver had claimed as their own. The pages descended on the food like starving men. Francesca wasn't paying attention so she didn't realize what story Fianola was telling, until she heard her mention grumbling.

"So, where is your 'not a friend at the moment'?" Liam teased.

Francesca couldn't choose between giving Fianola and Liam a dirty look. Deciding to be generous she shared it between them.

"Sleeping last time I looked." She grumbled a bit. That earned a laugh and they demanded that Francesca tell the story of how she got a bobcat as a pet. "He's not a pet," she sighed. "I was home visiting my family – oh, a year ago – and decided to-"

"What do you mean 'visiting'?"

"I was at the convent for – hey!" Francesca pounded on Liam's and Traver's backs since they were sitting next to her. When all of her friends could breathe without chocking again she gave them strange looks.

"You went to the _convent!_" Fianola practically shrieked.

"Yes," Francesca mumbled. "I'd rather have spent three years in the realms of Chaos."

"Why?" Francesca raised one eyebrow at her friends.

"Would you want to hear things like 'Walk slowly,' 'Sit up straight,' or 'Oh, how did you get your embroider so tangled!', 'Now don't frown, you'll age sooner and _never _find a husband then'. Every day, for three years?" Her friends looked at her with varying degrees of horror. She shrugged. "I don't think my impression was that bad." She told then blandly. "In fact I think it was quite good."

"Sorry, I'm still trying to imagine a life like that." Alan shuddered.

Liam snorted. "I actually _had _to go through similar training."

"Yes, but _you _are a prince that one day may make a political match." Fianola told him.

An argument began on whether or not royal children or typical noble ladies were worse off. Fianola, naturally, sided with Francesca who wondered how in Shakith's name this arugement started. They were heading off to their classes – still arguing – when Francesca finally got tired of it.

"Is this _really _necessary? Who _cares_ which is worse? Fianola, you and I are the only ones ever at risk for going to the convent – and I think it's a bit late since we are both here." Francesca snapped, she glared at them all. "After all, unless Alan and Traver are hiding something big – and I don't see why they would – _we _are the only girls here. Liam, you are a prince! Do you realize how many girls in the convent are being sent there because their parents want them to marry you? Goddess, I can't believe I'm actually saying this – but this has to be the most ridiculous fight I've ever heard – and I've heard argument on _hair treatment_, of all things!" They were still trying to comprehend what she said when she strode off. Only to run into someone.

Francesca glanced at the person she'd run into, only to discover the crown prince and his wife. She bowed hastily. "My apologies, your highness. I wasn't watching where I was going." Francesca could feel her face flaming and she all but whispered. She fled before either could say anything.

The prince and princess watched the girl run off, before turning to the four she'd been reprimanding.

"You know," Liam said. "I think that is the most I've heard from her."

"And she actually looked us in the eye, instead of glancing up then back down," Traver added.

"What was the argument about," Roald asked his younger brother.

"Whether going to the convent or being raised royal was more torturous."

"She's right you know," Alan said. "I think this is the stupidest argument I've heard."

"I've never seen someone's face go white, then bright red like that," Fianola added. Everyone looked at her. "What? Have you? Come on, we're going to be late."

A/N: Yeah, not the best ending maybe; but I promise that it will get better! I'm currently writing another fic, which is a series of one-shots of what various characters think about Kel when they first meet her, so I'm splitting between writing that and this. Please review! ^.^


	3. Life in the Palace part 2

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry it's taken me so long. Finals and life got in the way. Well here we are, hope you like it. Please review.

Francesca's face was still glowing with embarrassment when she arrived at her first class and chose a seat to slump into. Classes flew by; the most interesting by far was the classes taught by Sir Myles, Lindhall Reed, and Takk the basilisk. Mathematics and reading and writing were mildly interesting but also fairly boring as Francesca knew a good bit of what the teachers – Mithran priests – were covering.

Francesca decided that etiquette was dull, no matter if you were learning it to catch a husband or not. At dinner Fianola and the other acted like the argument from lunch never happened – which suited Francesca just fine. When she went back to her room to grab her books she discovered a letter sitting on her desk. Francesca headed towards the library, not noticing Rain following her until she arrive and her friends laughed at the sight of a bobcat following her like a shadow.

Francesca scowled at the creature. "If I get in trouble because of you, I'll skin you." She told him, the others laughed, clearly seeing that the threat lacked heat. Sitting down she opened the letter.

_ Dear Francesca,_

_Life is even duller – if that is possible – with you gone. I truly envy you. Mama and Papa refuse to hear anything more about me trying for my shield however. Why in the world didn't you share with me what you told your parents that convinced them to let you try? If you had, then maybe we'd both be in the palace now. _

Francesca snorted at that. Her parents had repeatedly brought of the reputation –or lack thereof – of the Lady Knights, thinking that she actually cared about that. She'd told them that if they were that concerned of her earning a false reputation then she'd go join the Temple of Desire (A/N: Think back to Mastiff, I think I phrased this correctly, but I sort of stole this line from when Lady Sabine is telling Beka about the cult of the Gentle Mother, and how she got her family to stop trying to convert her.), that way she didn't have to worry over false reputations.

_But no matter now, you'll just have to introduce me to all your new, handsome knight-to-be friends. That way if my daughter one day want to earn her shield, there is no way my husband can say 'no'. Well, I am presented to court in two years. If the war is over then I'll get my brother to introduce both of us to the Lady Knight! Until then I'll be waiting for your letter - yes, I do expect one – where you can tell me all about your life as a page. I plan to live through you._

_ Goddess Bless,_

_Aisha of King's Reach_

_P.S. Don't worry about your visions. What will happen, will happen. And you know ignoring them is stupid._

She scowled at that. Aisha never understood why Francesca hated her visions and wished they'd go away, and she probably never would. Shaking her head, Francesca tucked the letter away and started on her class work.

Francesca days took on a pattern. In the morning she would run with Fianola, then breakfast, and morning classes. After that she would quickly wash and then rush to lunch, then afternoon classes, and after that dinner. After dinner she would sometimes write a letter to Aisha, or start early on class work.

About three months into the year Francesca realized that she was comfortable enough with Alan, Liam, Fianola and Traver, that she didn't look down whenever she spoke with them. If they noticed they didn't comment – probably thinking that she would turn shy again.

"I have to write my Ma," Alan was saying one evening at dinner. "She's fighting in the war, and according to my Da, getting letters from us remind her not to take stupid risks."

"I just got a letter from my little sister," Fianola sighed. "She's still mad that she's not here anymore."

"What do you mean anymore?" Francesca asked.

"We started training together, but she broke her leg – fell off her horse tilting – and Mama and Papa insisted that she come home at once. They won't let her return to training."

"What about you, Francesca?" Liam asked. "You write to your parent pretty regularly, right?"

"No," she responded, a bit shocked. "My friend Aisha has been writing me – and demanding replies." They chuckled at that. "But I haven't spent any mail to my parents, and they've not sent me anything."

"Why," Traver asked. "I get mail every month."

Francesca gave a one shoulder shrug. "My father and I…don't see eye-to-eye. My mother hasn't spoken to me since, oh I guess it's been two years now."

"What?" Francesca shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable as her friends stared at her in astonishment. "My father tried to arrange a marriage for me – and before that he sent me to the convent. And mother and I… we differ in opinions. She's returned every letter I've sent her for two years, unopened. After I got the first few back I stopped trying."

"That's horrible," Liam stated.

"It's all right, not every family is happy." Francesca told her friends.

"Does no one in your family care enough to send you letters, or something?" Traver demanded.

"I get letters from my brother, and up until I started page training my great-aunt and I corresponded frequently. It's hard for her. My father's cousin that died during his page training? That was her only son. Apparently I am the very image of him – well, except for how long my hair is and eyes."

"Your brother's in the King's Own, right?" Fianola confirmed.

"Yes, he's a sergeant in the Third Company." Francesca chuckled. "My parents sent him a message begging him to talk since into me when I first made it known that I wanted earn my shield. He replied that he had nothing to say against Lady Knights, as he worked with Lady Alanna on occasion, and was watch the next lady-knight –to-be as she went through her squire years. He then sent me a message telling me that if I wanted to do this, so be it, but if I got myself killed before I earned my shield or before the paint was dry on my shield – he'd never forgive me."

Once more they laughed and Francesca thought that the topic would be dropped. She was wrong.

"Does your mother not think that lady's should be knights?" Fianola asked, head tilted to one side.

"Not exactly," Francesca hedged. "She thinks _I _can't be a knight."

"Why?" Francesca squirmed a bit in her seat. Her mother didn't think that she could be a knight or even a rider because she was a seer, simple as that. Francesca wanted to be more than that.

"I'd really rather not talk about it." Francesca told them eyes downcast, voice as quiet as when she first met them. The four traded looks that she couldn't see then changed the subject. It was a while before she joined in the conversation, and the others thought that it was because she was still upset, they never realized that she was lost in her own mind.

_Francesca heard her name being called turning she saw her brother. Dusty from the road, and sweaty from a long days ride, but she didn't care. With a yelp of joy she race over to him and threw her arms around him. Aiden picked her up and spun her around, when he set her down he held her at arm's length._

"_Let's see," he said teasingly. "Both arms, both legs, your head's still attached. How many times have you gotten bashed on the head?"_

"_Only a time or two. I duck," she replied flippantly. "I didn't expect you back for midwinter," she told him._

"_My lord's thinking about taking a squire, also the war's over, and we need to refill the ranks." Francesca laughed and shoved him. _

"_Go bathe," she ordered._

She blinked and was once more sitting in the mess hall with her friends. Equal parts worry and relief washed through her. Worry because the visions of the future she got were becoming more frequent; and relief because she knew that her brother would return alive from the war. Some time ago she learned to tell the difference between definite futures, and possible ones. The one she'd just seen was definite. She hated seeing possible futures, every possible outcome depended on a few details, and when seeing one she – and she assumed other seers – saw all the possibilities one right after another.

Another thought occurred to her. Midwinter was coming up – would Aidan return this year? Or would she have to wait until next year to see her brother? She resolved to write to him. She stood and left the mess hall with her friends still thinking. Francesca noticed that after that evening, her friends didn't mention family much around her.


	4. Mid Winter

A/N: Here's the next chapter! I hope ya'll like it and please review! Here's another chapter before my semester ends! Yea!

Thanks to:

Missgrant: I don't know if it's a rule, but for the purpose of the story, I am going to say it is possible, and mainly it is her mother's opinion and Francesca's fear.

Midwinter, and the feasts that came with it, caught Francesca by surprise that year. She truly realized that winter had descended upon the capital when Fianola refused to run outside one morning.

"We'll have enough chances to freeze ourselves," the other girl told her flatly. "I, for one, am not going to go _searching_ for them."

Francesca met her friends before report to the Master of Ceremonies. She only half listened to his speech, she, after all was only going to see the kitchen. Before the pages was sent out, Francesca peered out into the banquet hall, curious to see if anyone she knew was there.

"Ugh," she mutter, "I think I'm actually _glad_ to be under Master Oakbridge's (AN: I think that's the Master if Ceremonies' name, but please let me know if I'm wrong) nose."

"Why," Fianola, Alan and Traver gave her looks that questioned her sanity.

She made a face. "I know those girls," she told them, pointing to a group of young noble ladies, that were new to court. "Most of them have little to no brains; Michelle of Anaver even told me once that if a woman has looks she doesn't need anything more. She's the one in the bronze dress."

Alan shook his head, "I keep forgetting that you actually _went _to the convent."

"I wish I could forget," she told them mournfully. "_You_ don't have the voices of shrill, busybodies scolding you stuck in your head."

"So when do we get to meet your friends from the convent?" Liam asked, while the others chuckled.

"Next year," she told them. She would have added more, but Master Oakbridge sent the second-, third-, and fourth-year pages off to wait on their tables.

The evening passed well enough, she and Liam were the only ones in their group that spent the entire evening contemplating killing the Master of Ceremonies, but were informed later on that such thoughts were a rite of passage. The next day, Francesca couldn't convince Fianola to run outside, so she went alone. She was about to head back inside when Rain came racing towards them, throwing himself at Francesca. Unprepared for the sudden weight of the bobcat, she stumbled. Nearby she heard someone laugh; looking up Francesca found someone she didn't know. The young woman was about Francesca's height, with a head full of brown curls and smoky grey eyes. Francesca felt her throat go dry, behind the woman, a tall lank man walked up, smiling slightly. Though she'd never met either of them, Francesca knew the wild mage Veraldaine Sarrasri, and Numair Salmalin, by their description.

The wild mage smiled at her. "So you're the friend that Rain talked about. It's nice to meet you."

Francesca couldn't speak, she shook. Powerful mages could tell if someone had the Gift or wild magic…did that mean that they could tell if someone had the Sight? Numair Salmalin was the most powerful mage in Tortall, even if most mages couldn't tell things like that; it was possible that _he_ could. The smile the wild mage gave her faltered. Francesca gave a jerky bow and raced away, nearly bowling over Fianola, Liam, and Alan in her haste. The three stared after her, and then turned to find what had frightened their friend. A surprised looking Numair and Daine answered their questions.

"What was that about," Liam asked.

"I'm not sure," Daine told them. "Do you know her? Does she usually act that way?"

"Francesca is shy, but I've never seen her act like that," Alan said, staring in the direction his friend had fled. "The closest I've seen her act like that was when she ran into Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami, but even then…she didn't look…"

"Afraid," Fianola supplied. "She looked terrified, and ran like Chaos beings were after her. What happened?"

In her room, Francesca sat, back to the door trembling, trying to calm herself. She knew she'd over reacted, but she'd been unable to stop herself, just like whenever her shyness prevented her from speaking. In her relatively short life, Francesca had never been more afraid that someone would somehow know about her visions. Rain, who she held huddled in her arms, looked up at her and let out a faint 'mah' sound, while batting at strains of her hair that had fallen from her braid.

"You led them to me, didn't you?" Francesca asked him, ignoring the way her voice shook. "Ridiculous creature, why?" She didn't expect an answer, nor did she get one. Standing she got dressed before heading to the mess hall, she didn't remember almost knocking them over in her rush to get away from the mage. She dodged their questions until they got frustrated and stopped asking. As they took their plates to be washed, Alan challenged her to a mock duel, remarking that her sword-work was horrible. Making a face at him, she agreed.

Even when she started the duel, Francesca never expected to win; Alan was in his third year, and his mother was probably the best sword hand in the Eastern and Southern lands, she for all they were the same age, had only just started her page training. All the same, she thought that, unless Alan was _trying_ to hurt her, she could hold her own, at least for a bit.

The duel had progressed some way, and she had no warning, when the vision hit her.

_Francesca watched from a corner, as a handsome squire flirted with a group of court ladies, they paid her – a lowly page – no mind as she served them food, and slipped away. She was about to return with the next course, when the squire who had been flirting with the ladies stopped her._

"_Why again did you seem so panicked when you asked me to distract them?" Alan asked, looking wickedly amused. _

"_Because, I know many of those ladies," she drawled, eye the table of women in question. "Plus, this was I _have_ introduce Aisha to some of my friends at the palace, and she won't fuss at me about it."_

_Alan just laughed, "Lord Raoul is having a small party tomorrow evening," he told her. "Come to it and I'll introduce you to the Lady Knight, she's going to be there."_

"_Which lady knight," she asked him._

"_Both."_

"_Well," she responded breezily, "since you begged me so pitifully to come, how can I say no?" Alan snorted and left._

A shout shook her out of the vision. Blinking, Francesca found Alan on the ground, a look of shock and pain on his face, one arm cradled in the other, clearly broken. Fianola, Liam and Traver were staring at her in horror. Her sword was raised poised to strike at Alan's unprotected head.

Francesca felt her blood rush from her face, the blunt practice sword fell from her numb fingers. For the second time that day, Francesca fled. _I could have killed him. I could have killed Alan._ The horrified thoughts replayed in her mind as she rushed away. She didn't go to her room – if, and she wasn't betting on it, someone wanted to find her, that would be the first place they looked. Instead she went to the stables, to Snowstorm's stall. She brushed the horse, hoping that it would calm her, but the scene from the practice courts played in her mind. _What if the vision hadn't ended? What if she had seriously injured, or even killed Alan?_

It took all the will power Francesca possessed not to weep; she skipped lunch, her stomach in knots. She stayed in the stables. She didn't know how long she'd been there when the brandy-legged hostler spoke.

"Brushin' her only does, some good miss," he told her, not unkind. "And it usually helps more, to brush all of her." Francesca blinked at him, and blushed.

"I-I was j-just thinking, sir." She told him. "This seemed like a good place, it's peaceful." The man nodded, the gesture resembled a horse bobbing its head. "Master Groomsman…you have wild magic, right? With horses?"

He blinked at her, "Aye," was the only reply.

"Do you ever… Think that it's a burden? Having magic – no, never mind. Please, forget I said anything." Patting Snowstorm, she left the stables. By the time she enters the kitchen that evening for mid-Winter service, she is all but late, and avoids her friends all together, though noted with much relief, that Alan's arm was no longer broken. She manages to avoid them for the rest of that evening. However, her luck runs out the next morning. When she opens her door to go for a run, Fianola, Traver, Liam, and Alan were waiting, looking determined. The four entered, and Fianola shut the door behind them.

"I think you own us an explanation," Fianola told her. "Or at least, you own Alan one. What got into you yesterday?"


	5. Explainations

A/N: Yes, lovely readers, I gave you a cliff hanger, but fear not, for here is the next chapter! Please review and I hope you like it!

Francesca swallowed hard, Fianola was right. Shame and fear made it impossible to look at her friends. _I might as well tell them,_ she thought in despair. _Get it over with; at least then, when I have to leave I won't be calling myself a coward. _She sat on the edge of her bed, ignoring the voices in her head that sounded like the Daughters' of the Convent, reprimanding her for her slumped stance.

"You're right," she told them, eyes locking on the floor between her feet. "I – I'm so sorry…I didn't know," her voice broke and she closed her eyes. "I'm a seer," she whispered, a part of her realized that this was only the third time that she'd said it aloud in her life. "I – Yesterday, during…the duel, I h-had a vision…I didn't know what was happening around me…I'm so sorry." She felt the tears of disappointment gather in her eyes, some slipped out. She would have to leave now; she would never get her shield. The fact that she'd had visions that seemed to imply that she would finish page training were inconsequential at the moment. Alan and the others would tell the training master, and they should, Francesca though dully. She could have killed Alan – her _friend_.

"That's why your family thinks you can't be a knight, isn't it?" Fianola asked her voice soft.

Francesca nodded, eyes still closed in an effort to stop her tears – she hated crying, hated the way it made others uncomfortable, and how weak it made her feel.

"What I don't understand," Traver said, "is why keep it secret? Is there a law against seers earning their shield?"

"Officially? No, I checked. But it's _never_ been done. Not ever. Even when there were lady knights, no seer has ever been a knight." Francesca told them. There was silence for a long moment, and then Francesca felt someone – Fianola – laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," the other girl told her.

"What," Francesca finally looked up, blinking at her friends, Fianola handed her a handkerchief.

"Your parents were worried that you would freeze up if you had a vision in the middle of a fight, right?" Slowly Francesca nodded. "Well, I think yesterday proved that isn't the case."

Francesca stared at them. "You – You're not…going to tell anyone?"

"It's not our secret to tell, Francesca," Alan told her solemnly. "Besides, you're our friend, you deserve a chance."

"I – Th-Thank you," she told them with feeling.

"The next time one of us are dueling you, just let us know if you get a vision," Traver said, teasing a bit.

"I wish I could," she replied mournfully. "Sometimes I know when their coming, other times…"

"Come on," Liam told her. "Let's go to breakfast." Francesca agreed stopping only long enough to slash some water on her face; she peered out into the hallway before shooing the boys out of her room. The five of them walked to the mess hall, and Francesca felt more relaxed than she had in years. She had hated lying to people she liked and respected, even if her lies were only by omission. When they had gotten their food and were seated, Traver lean forward and whispered.

"So how often do you have visions?"

Francesca bit her lip, not particularly wanting to talk about it, but she figured that she did owe her friends. "It depends; sometimes I can go months – almost a year once – without any. Other times I can't seem to blink without having one." She sighed, "The first day of page training I had one; just to let you know Alan, your mother will take it upon herself to help you find a knight master." The red-headed boy scowled.

"Of course she will," he responded with a sigh.

"Oh, look on the bright side," Fianola told him. "At least we know that you won't fail the big tests."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Alan demanded, making the others laugh.

Francesca said nothing; she sat smiling to herself, happy and content. That evening, after the Midwinter service, she wrote Aisha.

_Dear Aisha,_

_While I am sure that you are enjoying your year as much as I am enjoying mine, I just wanted to let you know that maybe - _maybe – _you were right. Through some unforeseeable events, I have told my friends here at the palace. The shocking thing? They are ok with it. Yes, I realize that you told me so. Yes, I know that I am too sensitive. No, I don't care, nor will I be telling everyone, and I expect you to respect that. I expect to see you next Midwinter, or will you be too civilized to speak with a girl who _willingly_ tries for shield._

_I still haven't decided whether or not I want you telling all of my friends here about my torture – I mean my time at Covent school. They often forget that I spent three years there, until I say something to remind them._

Francesca paused and sat back. In her last letter, Aisha had told her that - according to her brother – the war was all but over. In all probability Aisha's parents wouldn't let their daughter be presented at court until their son was home.

_I feel I should add, it may be longer than you think before we see each other again. But fear not, I shall continue to return you letters, and perhaps send you news of anything important that happens._

_Your friend,_

_Francesca of Nond_

The next morning, marked the end of the holidays, though the pages had one extra day before classes began again. To pass the time, Liam talked Francesca and the others into going to the royal menagerie. On a whim that day, she wore a dress – something she'd abstained from thus far. The looks of surprise that her friends gave her both amused and exasperated her. _I am a girl_, she thought. _And they know that I did spend some time trying to be a proper lady. Why is it so surprising that I own a dress?_

They were laughing and joking on their way to the menagerie, not paying attention much to their surroundings, so Francesca was shocked when Fianola and Traver stopped so suddenly that she ran into them. Before she could ask what was going on, they moved, showing her a bobcat trying to reach pygmy marmosets though the enclosure. One look at the creature had Francesca sighing; her friends were making strangled sounds.

"Oh, just laugh," she told them before striding over to Rain. "You're a foolish creature," she told the cat, plucking him from the ground. He hissed and wriggled, trying to get back to the monkeys. "No," she told him. "What would the wild mage say if she saw you trying to eat her friends? She might not be as nice as I'm being." Turning she carried him away from the creatures he'd been after.

Rain began to made sounds pitiful enough to break even the coldest hearts. Her friends tried to sooth the creature, Francesca just gave him a disgusted look. She knew this act. When they were far enough away from the marmosets, Francesca dropped the bobcat, who then gave her an insulted look, before beginning to wash.

"He said that he just wanted to play with them," a soft female voice said behind them.

"Yes, well I doubt that this miserable fur ball's definition of 'play' and the marmosets' are the same." Francesca responded without thinking. When she turned she saw the wild mage; Francesca felt herself flush and looked down.

"Oh, you two have never been introduced, have you?" Alan said cheerfully, ignoring Francesca's panicked look. "Auntie Daine, this is Francesca of Nond, she's in page training with us. Francesca this is Daine the wild mage.

Three years' worth of training caused Francesca to react without conscious though. She curtsied to the other woman. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady." Francesca knew she looked as surprised as the wild mage when she straightened. Liam, Fianola, and Traver roared with laughter.

"Forgive me, I spent some years at Covent school," Francesca mumbled to the other woman. "The reactions they all but beat into us sometimes catch me off guard."

"Not at all," Daine assured her. Rain chose that moment to whine pitifully to Daine, who giggled. "He says that you never let him have fun."

"His 'fun' has gotten me in trouble often enough," Francesca said wryly. She was desperately trying to catch one of her friend's eyes to beg for help. All of them were avoiding her gaze. She mentally cursed them – especially Alan, who had an amused smirk on his face, at least the others _tried_ to hide their amusement at her expense. To try and make herself feel less awkward, Francesca looked around.

"Oh, no," she grumbled, spotting a party moving towards them. She could make out only one member diffidently, but could make a guess at the others. "Alan," she hissed at the boy. "Let's get out of here. _Please!_"

"Is that – Francesca of Nond?" Francesca gritted her teeth at the voice. When she turned to face the girl that had spoken, there was a small polite smile on her face.

"Michelle, what a surprise," she told the older girl with false pleasure. "When did you get here? And is that Sabine and Ella with you?"

The four women exchanged greetings with false pleasure.

"When you disappeared this year, we didn't know what to think! There were horrid rumors going around, someone said something about a match your parents made, but I knew that couldn't be the case. You were always very…spirited, too much so to have no say in your future husband, wasn't she ladies?" Michelle said, Francesca wanted to punch her, she knew about the rumors, she also knew who'd started them.

"No," she told them with a false laugh. "No match. I decided life at the Covent had lost its appeal," _not that it ever had any._ "They were letting in a lesser people, I'm sure you understand." Francesca saw the barb hit the mark when Michelle's eyes narrowed.

"Well I don't blame you for not wanting your parents to choose your future husband," Sabine spoke now, the girl was cleverer than Michelle, and much more vicious. "After the last one they wanted to set you up with. Oh, dear, we must be going. It was good to see you dear."

Francesca gritted her teeth and said good-bye to the three women, once they were out of ear shot she growled.

"I hate them. I hate them very much." Francesca looked down, Rain sat at her feet. "Couldn't you have, I don't know, hissed at them? Attacked them? Something?" the bobcat blinked at her and yawned. "Contrary creature," the girl grumbled.

"Ummm," Francesca turned, only just remembering that her friends and the wild mage were there, she flushed. Fianola continued, "Well that was…interesting. At least now I remember why I'm glad to be a page; you can beat up people you don't like." Francesca snorted.

"Your parents tried to arrange your marriage," Liam asked.

"I was afraid you heard that," she sighed. "Yes, but it didn't get far."

"What stopped it," Traver asked.

Francesca began to walk back the way the group had come. "Oh, I told my father point blank that I wanted nothing to do with the man, warned him it would be best of he washed his hands of the whole house. Then I told him that if he tried to continue with the match, I'd rub raw stakes on myself and go wandering in the wood for the nearest spirdren and ask it to eat me."

"If that's the argument you used to escape marriage," Alan told her dryly after a long silence. "Then I shudder to think what you used to convince your parents to let you try for you shield."

"Wait," Traver said, "how old were you when your parents tried to set the match?"

Francesca paused, frowning. "I think…nine. Maybe I'd just turned ten."

Daine made a shocked sound, Francesca and Fianola glanced at her. "Sadly it's not that uncommon." Fianola told her. "Most noble families begin to discuss matches for their daughters soon after they are born. Then they send their daughters off to become ladies and decide for certain once they're old enough to marry."

"How old was this man they wanted you to marry," Daine asked her.

"He was a squire," she said quietly, thinking back to that day.

"So he's a knight now?" Francesca wasn't sure who had asked.

"No," she sighed. "No never passed his Ordeal…he died in the Chamber."

She heard complete silence, looking over her shoulder; Francesca saw that all of them watched her in varying degrees of shock and horror. Feeling the need for some inexplicable reason, Francesca took a deep breath.

"Yes, my father wanted me to marry Joren of Stone Mountain."

A/N: Well this is the longest chapter thus far. What did y'all think? Please review, thanks to everyone who has added me or this story to their favorites/alerts; I love you guys 33! Once more, please review!


	6. Training Camp

A/N: Soooo? What does every one think? Please review, it helps me feel motivated, especially to write the extra-long chapters instead of the usual shorties. Thanks quikreader93, TheRealProtector, I'm glad you like it! Well, here's what you REALLY want, instead of these boring author's notes :P

To **TheRealProtector**: I plan to continue the story all the way until she is a knight. I already know who her knight-master will be ;p

Francesca refused to say any more about her family – no matter _how _much the others bugged her about it. By the summer training camp rolled around they were still trying. As she packed for the trip, Francesca faced a problem; if Rain followed her, which he probably would, and then the training masters would notice. While she wanted to go and ask the wild mage to look after him, but the thought of facing the wild mage alone, and the chance of running into Master Numair made her blood run cold. Finally, she figured out a way to solve her problem – maybe.

Alan's room was only a short walk down the hall from her's, and of all her friends, he knew Daine and Numair the best – after all, he referred to them as 'Uncle' Numair and 'Aunt' Daine. Francesca sent a quick prayer to Shakith and knock on the boys' door. Alan opened the door, and after seeing who it was, went back to packing. Francesca walked in and sat on the edge of his desk.

"Will you help me with something," she asked, not wasting time.

"Depends," Alan replied without looking up. "But the answer will probably be yes."

Francesca rolled her eyes. _If you're going to say yes anyway, why not just say yes?_ She thought, but didn't say. Instead she asked. "Will you ask the wild mage if she'll look after Rain? I really don't want him following us during the training camp."

Alan frowned at her. "Let me ask you a question," Francesca nodded. "Why don't you want to do it yourself," he held up a hand to forestall anything she was about to say. "I'm not saying I won't, but… Are you afraid of Aunt Daine? You haven't seemed like it, except for that first time, but I know your shy…" he drifted off as Francesca shook her head.

"It's not the wild mage," Francesca swallowed and glanced towards the door, before lowering her voice. "It's Master Numair, I know that great mages can do things others cannot. See people's magic and such; what if he can see that I'm a _seer,"_ the word was little more than a breath of sound. Francesca didn't realized that her eyes where wide, and fearful.

It wasn't until that moment, that Alan realized that Francesca had stopped jumping at shadows, and had become less quiet – not just with their friends, but all together, since she had told them that she was a seer. It was as though the weight of the secret she kept is what made her the quiet, fearful girl he'd sponsored.

"I'll tell you what," Alan told her kindly. "I'll go with you, and if Uncle Numair is there, I'll distract him." Francesca nodded, a bit reluctantly and left to grab Rain, who was sleeping on her bed. When they knock on Daine and Numair's door, it was the tall mage that answered, Francesca felt herself stiffen, and attempt to fade into the background, with highly limited success.

"Hello, Uncle Numair, is Aunt Daine here?" Alan said cheerfully, Francesca stared at the floor.

"No, some of the rider groups have returned from the north, and Daine is seeing to their ponies. Is it something I can help with?"

Alan shook his head and bid the mage a good night.

"Are we allowed to go over to the rider's stables?" Francesca asked, as Alan led the way.

"I find that it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission." Was the loftily reply.

"As if you ever ask forgiveness," Francesca retorted, the boy was constantly playing pranks – none of which their teachers could prove he had anything to do with. It had frustrated Alan to know end when Francesca seemed to know about most, if not all, of his pranks before anyone else. He'd even accused her of spying on him.

It did not take them long to find the stables, but Francesca refused to go in.

"If the horses smell Rain, they might spook, and if one of the horses gets hurt because of it, I doubt that the wild mage will appreciate it." Alan went into the stable to find Daine, while Rain and Francesca stayed outside. She was beginning to wonder what was taking so long when a voice spoke behind her.

"It's not often we see pages around here," Francesca whirled, and came face to face with a short woman, and a giant of a man.

"P-pardon, my lady, my lord. I-I was waiting for my friend." She stammered bowing to them. The man she recognized from one of her visions; Raoul of Glodenlake. The woman was a K'miri, and if Francesca had to hazard a guess, she would say that she spoke to Buriram Tourakam, former commander of the Queen's Riders and Sir Raoul's wife. Rain, wrapped in a blanket in Francesca's arms, yowled and wiggled out.

Francesca went red with embarrassment, and glanced at them; Buri looked surprised, but Sir Raoul was looking at her like he recognized her from somewhere, but wasn't sure where.

"What's your name, page?" Raoul asked, not commenting on the bobcat that sat cleaning itself at her feet.

"Francesca, sir," she said bowing again. "Francesca of Nond."

Raoul blinked, and Francesca saw sadness flash in his eyes. She gritted her teeth, she knew that look, it was the same one her aunt always got; seeing for a second, not her, but Francis, who'd died in the Sweating Sickness.

"Ah," the big knight said. "I knew a relative of yours when I was a page. You look very much like him."

"Yes, my lord," Francesca said politely. "So I've been told."

"Uncle Raoul," Alan's voice was cheerful. Francesca wanted to throttle him. "Aunt Buri, I see you've met Francesca. If you're discussing something important, I can come back –"

"Alan," Francesca hissed. "Don't you dare, or by Shakith I will make sure that our teachers have _plenty _of evidence to nail you for the next dozen pranks you pull." Buri and Raoul chuckled, and Francesca flushed, glaring at her friend.

"I thought you knew better than to leave any evidence," Raoul asked the boy.

"I do," he replied with a shrug. "But Francesca would find some anyway" He ignored the glare that Francesca gave him. Looking past him, Francesca saw Daine exit the Rider's stables, mumbling excuses and bowing, Francesca picked up Rain and headed over to the wild mage.

"I thought there was only one girl in the same year of page training as you," Raoul commented.

"Francesca's a first year," He responded. "But she is my age."

"Why wait so late," Buri asked.

Alan shrugged. "Her parents didn't want her to try for her shield – apparently they begged her to try for the Rider's."

"That's odd," Raoul commented. Once more Alan shrugged, and said nothing.

"How long before you head back north?"

"A few weeks," Raoul answered.

"When you see my Ma, tell her I said to be careful." Raoul chuckled and nodded. They bid each other good-day, and Alan went over to Daine and Francesca. "What's wrong," he asked seeing the frustrated look on Francesca's face.

"Rain refuses to stay," she told him. "Apparently, I disappeared on him once, so he doesn't trust me to come back."

"Well, when you came to training," Alan began. Francesca gave him a look, he grinned at her.

Daine looked up at her. "I'm sorry, but I won't make him stay. Not if he doesn't want to."

"No, I didn't expect you to." Francesca told her, crouching down next to Rain. "Will you at least stay out of sight most of the time – when our teachers are around?" She asked the bobcat.

"He says that he will," Daine translated.

"I'll take it," she told the wild mage with a lop-sided smile. "I don't know why I expected anything else. Rain isn't a pet; he doesn't take orders." The bobcat gave her a cat-smile and rubbed against her leg. "Thank you, for trying." She told the wild mage with a bow.

Alan and Francesca headed back to the page's wing.

"Why do you enjoy my torment," she asked her friend. He blinked at her. "You know that I uncomfortable around strangers – and it amuses you."

"Yes," he acknowledged, with a grin. "But in all honesty, sometime I forget how shy you can be." He stopped walking; Francesca went a few more steps, before she realized that he wasn't moving. She gave him a questioning look. "Will you tell your knight master? When you become a squire?"

Francesca bit her lip and looked away. "I'll have to, won't I?" she told him. "Maybe I'll be lucky, and one of the lady knight's friends will be my knight master – they'll be more likely to believe that I _can_ be a knight."

Alan nodded and started to walk again. "Which lady knight?" he asked.

"Either," she told him.

The next day, the pages and the training master left the palace early. Francesca and her friends made a game of trying to spot Rain. The Royal Forrest was dense and the filtered light made it more difficult than that usual. They headed east and south, past Whitethorn. They pitched a permanent camp after a week's travel. The spot the training master picked was on a small lake in a forested area. Fianola and Francesca were ordered to pitch their tents near Eda Bell, and to dig a latrine in the opposite direction of the boys'. When they were scouting out a spot, Rain joined them.

"Are you sure that he's not a pet," Fianola asked. Francesca made a face at her.

"He's a wild animal," she told her friend. "He may have decided that I'm his friend or companion, or something, but he's not a pet."

For dinner that evening, Lord Padraig sent the pages fishing. It did not take long for the pages to have enough fish for supper. As the fish cooked, the training master spoke to them.

"Tomorrow you will work on your tracking skills," he told the pages. "You will be split into groups, and set to find and track a specific type of animal back to its den."

That evening, Francesca fell asleep to wondering thoughts of what group she would be in, and a bobcat sleeping on her stomach.

The next morning, Francesca watched the boys in her group warily; Heastif ibn Alhaz, Gavin of Stone Mountain, Turomot of Mcayahill, Marrek of Irontown, and Traver. Traver and Francesca traded looks when they were assigned to track a bobcat whose tracks their teachers had found around camp yesterday evening. Francesca and the other first- and second-years had spears; the third- and fourth-years had bows. It took a while for them to find tracks – bobcats were hard to track, as they tended to stay to trees and were light enough that unless the dirt was soft or wet, they didn't leave much in the way of tracks.

They had been at it for several hours, when Heastif called for a break. Francesca and Traver sat on a nearby rock. Marrek dropped his bow and quiver next to them, before heading over where the senior pages argued over dung.

"So," Traver asked quietly. "Are we tracking Rain?"

"I'm not sure," she made a face. "They haven't stopped long enough for me to get a good look at the tracks – I could tell if I saw them. If we are then we aren't doing a good job. He's following us."

He laughed and took a swallow from his water skin. There was no warning when it happened. A hurrok swept from the sky with a scream of rage; it slashed several of the older pages before flying back to the sky, to take another pass.


	7. The Hurroks

A/N: Am I good at cliff hangers, or what? Probably not, but here y'all go, let me know what you think. Thanks, TheRealProtector!

Francesca looked around; they needed to get somewhere under cover. Looking up, she saw not one hurrok, but ten.

"Get under the trees," she called to the other pages. Most of them had already stared to run. Heastif and Turmot had been the ones to get the worst of the hurrok slash – Heastif was trying to help Turmot stand. Two more of the monsters dived, glancing around she seized several rocks and hurled them at the immortals. She hit them, the pulled up from the dive with a scream and others rushed at her. Francesca ran and dove for the bow and quiver that Marrek had dropped – she felt something rake her back and shoulders. She made the first shot without aiming – it grazed one of the creatures, but otherwise did no damage.

She covered the pages with the bow – the older pages now doing the same, as Heastif and Turmot made it to the scarce cover of the trees.

"Where's the horn," Traver asked Turmot, who'd been carrying it.

"Slashed the cord," the boy gasp, as one of the other pages wrapped his leg to stop the bleeding. "Couldn't grab it."

"Here," Francesca shoved the bow and quiver into Traver's hands and dropped the other packs she carried.

"What are you doing?" Marrek demanded, grabbing her arm. She glared at him.

"I'm the quickest," she told them. "I'm going to grab the horn and try to summon help. Let go."

"Maybe we should just stay put," Gavin suggested.

"If we do that then there's no telling when help will come, or if those two," Francesca pointed to Heastif and Turmot, both of whom were bleeding heavily. "Will still be alive when help does come."

"You're hurt," Traver pointed out.

"It's a scratch, not even bleeding that bad." She disagreed, peering at the sky. The hurroks were circling the area. "Look, I see where the horn fell. I'll take a spear, and if they come too close I can defend myself. I'll have a bit of cover," she looked at Traver. "I'll be fine."

"Let her go," Heastif croaked out. He was the page in charge of their group. "That's the most I've ever heard her say," he to the other pages. "She must be sure that she can do it."

Francesca took a deep breath. _Shakith, _she prayed silently. _Please let me live through this, please let the others be alright._ She took off; she ran straight towards the lone tree whose roots the horn had fallen among. She heard the flap of leathery wings, and the scream of triumph from several of the immortals. She dove towards the tree, expecting at any point to feel talons sink into her. Instead she heard a hurrok scream in pain and surprise. She snatched up the horn and blew several hard blasts, before turning to see the attacking immortals. The lead hurrok was trying to shake a golden-brown furred creature off its face.

Rain had three set of claw sunk into the immortal's face, the other raked at eyes and sensitive ears. Another hurrok landed in front of the one that Rain clung to. Francesca lunged forward, sinking the spear into the creature's horse-like neck.

"Rain," Francesca snapped at the bobcat. "Move, to the trees." The cat obeyed, a pages' arrow took care of the hurrok, the creature had been half-blinded. Francesca ran to the tree cover, arrows flew at the immortals that dove for her.

She slumped to the ground, breathing hard. Rain walked over and gave her a cat-grin. "Crazy creature," she mumbled at him. She glanced up and found several of the other pages staring at her. She held up the horn. "Told you I'd get it," she said, some of them grinned. She handed the horn to Marrek, who went the edge of the trees, to blow the signal to summon help. Francesca stood, she didn't want to, but if she didn't then the boys might think she can't handle the situation. She walked over to Heastif and Turmot; they were still bleeding and none of the pages had any of the magical gift.

She peered at the boys. "How bad are you?" she asked.

Neither of the boys answered; they were clearly in pain, their jaws clenched and eyes closed. Turmot was pale normally, his skin looked like wax, and Heastif was ashy. Francesca bit her lip; in theory, she knew how to sew up a cut, but she'd never done it for real. If she didn't try, the boys would die for sure.

"Traver," she called to her friend. "Toss me my pack." He did, and she dug through it until she found the small set of needles and thread that she carried with her through habit more than anything else. Looking at the injured boys she said. "I can sew up your slashes, but there's nothing to numb the pain…"

"Do it," grunted Heastif. Francesca nodded, and carefully threaded her thickest needle, before she unwrapped the slashes on the boy's arm. She poured water over the long cut. Taking a deep breath, she began, moving steadily – it reminded her vaguely of sewing leather, which was not something she had much practice with. She finished more quickly than she expected, and poured a bit more water over the area before rewrapping it.

"How did you know how to do that?" Francesca jumped a bit and glanced up at Gavin. She licked her lips and moved next to Turmot.

"I knew the theory," she admitted. "I've never done this before, but at least now the bleeding will slow."

"You did almost as good as the healers in my tribe," Heastif told her. "Their stiches aren't always that even."

"They probably didn't have a covey of old women screeching at them when their embroidery stiches weren't just so," she replied absently, already starting on Turmot.

Not long after she finished, the pages' teachers arrived. Glancing around, Francesca found that Rain was nowhere in sight. None of the hurroks escaped the attack. Later, when the Lord Padraig and the Shang masters' examined the stiches on the two senior pages demanded to know who had sewn up the wounds. When the pages reported the Francesca had, she was asked where she learned how to sew up wounds.

"I was never taught, my lord." She told the training master; she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"Then how did you know what to do," the training master demanded.

"I know how to sew," Francesca responded tiredly. She didn't know the Wildcat was behind her until a hand pressed on her hurrok scratches. She hissed a flinched away from the touch.

"You need those wounds seen to," the Wildcat told her firmly, before leading the tired girl away. As soon as her cuts had been cleaned and bandaged, Francesca fell into her bedroll and dully noted that the other pages from her group had done the same.

The next morning, Francesca woke early. The first thing she did was go to the latrine, after that she changed clothes, using the bedroll for cover. Standing she stretched carefully, and headed to the small lake. Heastif joined her there after some time. Neither of them said anything for a while, content to stare at the lake. From their position they could see the place the hurroks had attacked them.

"Thank you," the boy told her calmly. Francesca glanced at him in surprise; Heastif had not made the same comments most of the other Bazhir in page training had – telling her and Fianola that they had no place in fighting.

"For what," she asked.

"You saved my life by sewing up that cut."

"I just did what anyone else would have done if they had the material." She told him, he shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not," he responded. He turned to walk away.

"Heastif," the boy looked at her. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded. "The other Bazhir pages have told me at one point or another that I should take my place behind the veil, but you never have. Why?"

He looked at her, head tilted to one side. Squinting at the rising sun he answered. "Several decades ago, before all of the Bazhir tribes made peace with your people, my tribe found two travelers fighting hill bandits. One of them was the Burning Bright One, who with the Night One had defeated the Nameless Ones. Enemies of my people," he clarified, seeing Francesca's confusion. "They were welcomed into our tribe after a trial. My people called her the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. She later became our shaman, and trained to women to replace her." He shot her a grin. "The Bloody Hawk is considered a strange tribe."

"Lady Alanna is a member of your tribe," Francesca asked, surprised, the Bazhir nodded. "I see, thank you, for telling me."

After the incident with her group, the training camp was tame – she had expected at least one of the pages to mention Rain, but none of the others said anything. They were packing up to leave, when Gavin walked over to her. On general principle, she stayed away from the boy, he wasn't his brother, but they were raised by the same people. Also, boys were strange when it came to pride – family pride, personal pride; injuring a boy's pride was a heinous crime in many eyes.

"You know," Gavin said quietly. "I've been trying to figure out since we started training, where I'd heard your name before."

"Is that so," Francesca said blandly, "and have you?"

"Yes," Gavin told her calmly. "You're the girl my father considered as a match for my brother." He paused, to see if she would say anything. Francesca remained silent. "If I remember correctly, my brother was furious when you reject the match so fully – he was of the mindset that you had no right to reject he match." Again Francesca said nothing. "Why did you reject him? He was the golden boy. Perfect if you asked anyone." There was bitterness in his voice.

"He was a bully, and altogether a horrid person," Francesca told him flatly. "Everyone knows that the Chamber cannot be affected and that it never lets those that are unworthy become knights – it found Joren wanting in one respect or another." Gavin blinked at her. "I rejected the match because I knew what I wanted my life to entail, and marriage would have made it impossible. Let alone marriage to a conservative." Gavin was silent for a long time, when Francesca glanced up again, he was gone.

As they headed back to the capital, Francesca rode between Alan and Fianola. Francesca was thinking, not really paying attention to her friends' banter. They were now third-years, one step closer to becoming squires – it was still odd to think that they were the same age. She would be eighteen before she became a squire. As though the thoughts summoned it, a vision slammed into her.

"_Francesca!" the girl turned to find Fianola bouncing, eyes bright with excitement._

"_What," she asked her friend._

"_A knight just approached me!" the newly made squire all but squealed. Francesca had to bit her lip to stop from laughing._

"_Who," she asked, not telling her friend that Alan had beaten her to getting a knight master._

"_Sir Nealan of Queenscove," Fianola told her. "He's the lady knight's best friend, that's almost as good. And I have a knight master before Alan, so I win our bet."_

"_That's great," Francesca told her. "But… Alan wins the bet."_

"_What, no. Who?"_

"_Sir Raoul," Fianola scowled._

"_That's cheating," the squire grumbled, Francesca chuckled._

"What do you think," Fianola demanded of Francesca. The girl blinked.

"Er, about what?"

"I'm betting Alan that when we become squires, I'll get a knight master first." Francesca began to laugh, whenever one of her friends asked what was funny, the laughter increased. The irony was too perfect.

A/N: Wow, so… Two chapters in as many days… Jeeze I didn't realize I had so much free time. Well, let me know what ya'll think.


	8. Summer Months

A/N: So, Francesca's first year as a page is over! Fianola and Alan are fourth-years! And I actually have more reviews than the current number of chapters! Ok, so the last one is probably not very relevant, but it matters to me. Thanks to everyone who favorite and follow(ed?) this story. Big thanks to those who review TheRealProtector and NinjaGirl012 and The Booknerds. While I can't PROMISE I'll try to give ya'll a chapter a week, maybe more often. You may have noticed that the timeline is a bit….jumpy, I'm sorry if that bothers anyone. Well, I'm gonna stop rambling, here's the next chapter.

Francesca was not going home for the summer holiday. A month before the pages had left of the training camp she'd sent a letter to her parents, requesting that they allow her to stay in the townhouse, and that they sent her horse there. When she arrived back at the palace, a short letter waited for her.

_Very well,_

_Sir Paxton of Nond_

Francesca was grimly amused. She actually got a reply; that was unexpected. Just as unexpected was the wave of sadness she felt at the short response. She shook herself in mild disgust; seeing and hearing about the letters her friends got from their family had made her wistful. She knew what her family was like – her father was distant, her mother was resentful and her grandmother was just sad. Her brother was the only actual member of her family that seemed to care about _her_, and he was almost fifteen years her elder. Firmly pushing those thoughts away, Francesca packed and went to her family's townhouse.

Francesca was pleased to find that Milli, the maid whom she'd first taken Rain to, was at the townhouse. Rain greeted the woman with dignity – allowing her to hold him for a few moments, before he tired of the attention. Glancing in the stables reviled that her horse, Night, had been sent from home as well. As soon as Francesca unpacked, she ran to saddle and ride Night, even if it was only for a short time. The mare was special to her because she was a gift from her brother, and was the fastest horse the girl had ever ridden.

Francesca knew that some knights – and the entirety of the King's Own – had ridding mounts as well as dustier, if given the chance, she'd like to buy Snowstorm as her warhorse. Would her parents give her the money to do so? _That's several years from now, so I won't worry myself over it. _ She decided firmly and put the thoughts from her mind.

The summer months passed quickly enough as the days took on a pattern for Francesca. In the morning she would run and do exercises, as she had during training. The afternoon was spent on helping with shopping or bookkeeping – both to help keep up with her other classes and because she liked to help the servants that her parents had sent to the townhouse.

One evening, Francesca returned from exercising Night earlier than normal. Milli, the housekeeper – an older woman, named Ava and the cook, Tara were leaving.

"Where are you going," Francesca asked, they did not have Ava's husband with them, as they usually did to find off thieves or other people whom may think to attack a group of women.

"Why don't you come with us, my lady?" Milli asked, instead of answering – the woman as a few years Francesca's elder and a friend. After asking if they could wait until she'd seen to Night, Francesca joined them. The four of them blended in – Francesca did not wear expensive clothes, what would be the point when they would get ruined. As it was, she looked the most ragged of the group, with hair sticking out of the braid, her sturdy tunic and breeches sweat-stained and covered in horse hair – Tara even pulled a piece of hay from Francesca's hair.

As they walked, Ava explained that they did this twice a week – 'this', Francesca soon found out, was a class taught by a seamstress. The woman, Lalasa, taught the women holds, throws and other such things to help them if attacked. Francesca couldn't help but feel guilty for being there – she wasn't who the woman wanted to teach, she was more protected by the law than any other in the building. Regardless, Francesca, at Milli's urging, joined in the lesson; when it finished, Milli, Tara and Ava were the last of the women to leave, helping Lalasa to clean up the small building that she rented for the class. Francesca helped silently, as the other women chatted easily.

"Lalasa, do have anytime tomorrow? My mistress doesn't know it yet, but she needs a dress," Milli asked, causing Tara and Ava to chuckle, while Francesca threw her a pleading look.

"Of course," the other woman replied, "Around noon, say?"

Francesca longed to say something, to insist that she did not, for any reason, need a dress. But she couldn't seem to make her mouth and throat work. As they finished, Francesca retrieved the cloaks she and her companions had left by the door. The said their good-byes and Lalasa turned to head home, Francesca hesitated before saying.

"Are you going home alone? Is it safe?"

"I don't live far from here," Lalasa responded with a smile. "I'll be fine."

Francesca accepted that with a nod, and left with Ava, Milli and Tara.

The next morning, Milli insisted that she wash and wear a dress before going to her fitting at Lalasa's shop. They argued about the dress part, but in the end, Francesca wore a dress to the fitting. The argument mainly consisted of threats from Milli, and pleads. The most amusing threat, in Francesca's opinion, was when Milli threatened to send Rain away. The girl had laughed and responded; "If you can do that, then it's more than I or the Wild mage could do."

By noon, Francesca and Milli were at Lalasa's shop – Francesca wore a dress. She pouted only a bit, and said nothing when she noticed Rain following. The fitting seemed to last forever, Milli and Lalasa talked designs, on one side of the shop, while Francesca made faces in the mirror, to amuse herself. She saw Rain before he moved, but didn't have a chance to warn Lalasa or Milli, before the bobcat leapt to the counter, scattering papers.

"Rain," Francesca scolded, moving to pick the bobcat up. "Behave yourself!" Before she could grab the feline, he leapt towards a chair behind the counter, where several sparrows perched – the birds shrieked and scattered. Francesca managed to grab him before he could make a second attempt. "I'm very sorry," Francesca told the seamstress, with a blush. "He does know better."

"There was no harm done, my lady." Was the calm response, as the seamstress checked on the little birds.

"Pet sparrows," Francesca mused. "That's not something you see every day."

"No more than a pet bobcat," Lalasa replied.

"He's not a pet," Francesca replied automatically. "He just thinks I belong to him."

The seamstress chuckled, and they began to talk about colors and lace. Francesca offered very little to the conversation; even when she was at the convent, she tried to avoid conversations like this – with mixed results. By the time they left, with assurance that the gown would be finished in a week, Francesca wanted nothing more than to never have to go through another dress fitting – ever.

The next morning, Francesca took Night for a ride through the Royal Forest not long after breakfast. Training would start up again in two weeks; she would see Fianola, Alan, Liam, and Traver again. Traver was a third-year now, and Fianola and Alan were fourth-year pages. She grinned when she thought about some of her visions – Alan would get Lord Raoul for a knight-master, and Fianola would get Sir Nealan, not that either of them were aware of that yet. She considered telling them, but decided against it – though she may tell their other friends, at a later time.

A/N: Ok, so I know this was kinda a filler chapter and short and sort of pointless, but….. Well sorry, I guess. Anyway, please review!


	9. The Second Year (part 1)

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I promise that this chapter is (probably) not filler. Training has started up again! New pages have arrived! Will more people find out Francesca's secret? (Seriously, will they? My plot gremlins won't tell me:( ) Will Fianola and Alan pass the big exams? Why am I asking that question right now? I don't think this chapter will cover an entire year. I'm gonna stop rambling now. Hope you enjoy! 3

Francesca finished unpacking, and looked around her room, feeling happy. Training would pick up again in a few days, and she would see her friends again. Deciding to see if her friends were back yet, she headed towards the door. The second her had touched the door, she was thrown into a vision.

_Several boys crouched outside the door – her door – rigging up traps. A bucket above the door, oil a few steps down the hall, and a few other nasty tricks._

Francesca blinked and scowled. This wasn't the first time her visions had saved her from nasty tricks. She opened the door suddenly surprising the three boys outside; the bucket fell on one of their heads. She stared at them, a scowl on her face; they fled when they heard people coming down the hall. Francesca shook her head, disgusted. Skirting the oil she went to find Salma, not wanting anyone to fall and hurt themselves because of a trick meant for her. She remained silent when it came time to choose first-years to sponsor. The entire time, the three pages that she'd caught trying to trap her shot her dirty looks, she ignored them.

Over dinner, she asked about her friend's summer, and found out from Alan, that his mom was in the capital, briefly. Francesca half wanted to ask to meet the Lioness, but the thought of _actually_ meeting the famous lady knight terrified her. Fianola while openly in awe of the knight being in the palace did not have the same hero-worship for the Lioness as she did for Keladry of Mindelan. Traver asked all of them if they wanted to help show the first-year he'd chosen to sponsor around – Francesca declined, she wanted to pick up some practice weapons' she'd had weighted, which had been Fianola's suggestion.

She was walking back to her room, when she heard someone behind her. Pausing, she glanced behind her; two boys, one first-year and one of the boys from earlier were behind her. She shook her head and turned back around – nothing was odd about a senior page showing around the first –year he'd sponsored. She took two steps forward and froze; the other two boys from earlier were in front of her, another glance behind her showed that the two pages were closing in, eyes focused on her.

Francesca scowled at them, and turned so that she could watch all four. They closed in so that they formed a half-circle, blocking any escape.

"You shouldn't have done that," the tallest of the group told her. He was a tall, blocky page – his pock-marked face ugly and square.

"Done what," Francesca asked quietly. They thought that just because someone was quiet, they were scared or stupid; she would use that to her advantage.

"You should know better than to make fools out of people who are your betters," another page hissed. This one was a fourth-year page who had actually asked her 'price' last year. She'd responded that not even a prostitute would have him, and if he wanted to ever have children he'd leave her alone – he hadn't liked her since.

"Since all of you are beneath me, that's not a problem." Francesca replied, knowing that it would result in them attacking her. She kept her back to the wall, cursing to herself. She kicked the first-year in the stomach and shoved him into the opposite wall – getting him out of the fight. She ducked as many of the punches as she could, but she was out match. The three pages that closed in on her were all fourth-years, the shortest was her height, and out-weighed her by quite a bit.

She maintained herself alright, until one of the boys got behind her. He grabbed her arm and twisted until she heard a _snap_. The pain made Francesca's vision go black, then white, before returning to normal. She wasn't sure how much longer the three boys pounded her, she they fled. At first she was confused, then she heard the footsteps – they'd left so that they weren't caught.

Stumbling to her feet, Francesca gentle held her broken hand to her chest, and began to walk down the hall towards her room. She had to lean against the wall for support.

"Page Francesca," Francesca closed her eyes and made a face. It was just her luck that the training master would be the one that the other pages had fled. Turning around she bowed, and saw that the two Shang masters were with Lord Padraig. The training master took in her appearance in less than a second. "My office," he rapped out. Once more Francesca bowed, and followed the training master to his office.

As she expected she was asked what happened, who she fought with, and other such questions. She responded – as custom dictated – that she'd fallen down.

"If that is so, then how did you break your arm," the training master demanded, face hard.

"I tried to catch myself when I fell," Francesca told him, her face in a wide-eyed innocent look that she'd mastered in the convent. "It did not work out the way I planned." It took almost half a bell for the training master to determine that she was sticking with her story; he gave her punishment work in the palace stores and ordered her to get her arm seen to. She bowed and left. She headed to the page's wing first, hoping Alan or one of the others could direct her to the healers, as she'd never been before.

Alan was in his room – with Liam, Fianola, Traver and the first-year, Lokak of Trebond. It was Lokak who saw her first, he gaped, Francesca grimaced and leaned against the door, waiting for her friends to freak-out, she didn't have to wait long. They all stared at her, she knew that she looked bad; the broken arm aside, she had spilt above and below one eye, it was swollen so badly that she couldn't see out of it. She felt like her ribs were bruised, at least, from kicks. When her friends had been frozen in shock for long enough to make her worry, she spoke.

"I guess I look worse than I thought, should have cleaned up first, I guess." It came out a bit muffled; as she'd taken….she wasn't sure how many blows to the jaw, and it throbbed fiercely. "Alan, could you tell me how to get to the healers?"

"Your arm's broken," Fianola exclaimed, aghast.

Francesca nodded, tiredly.

"What happened to you," Liam asked, he look worried.

Francesca raised her eyebrows, silently asking if he really needed her to answer that question.

"Come on, I'll show you," Alan told her . "And on the way you can fill us in."

"What do you think," she grumbled. "I fell down."

The other snorted and gave her an I'm-not-buying-what-your-selling look. Francesca followed Alan, feeling more tired than ever before. As they reached the infirmary, Francesca looked up, and froze just inside the door, her one good eye widening in horror and surprise.

Besides Duke Baird, who'd returned from the front lines of the war, the infirmary also hosted the Lioness and the King. Francesca stared, and thought a bit hysterically, _At least the cuts on my face probably stopped bleeding, after all, there's no more blood there anymore._

"Ma," Alan stated surprised, Francesca wanted to ask him, why Shakith's name did he draw attention to them. Lady Alanna, King Jonathan and Duke Baird turned towards them. All of the pages bowed to the king, Francesca thought she might faint, and not because of the pain from her arm, ribs and jaw – or, not _just_ that.

Francesca gave Alan a pleading look, he took pity on her.

"Your grace," Alan said, addressing the healer. "Lord Padraig sent Francesca due to…falling down." Francesca glared at the floor for the way he paused, wanting to kick him. "She broke her arm." The healer ushered her in and helped her onto the examining table.

"You fell," was the disbelieving question, from the Lioness, as she studied the girl.

Francesca hunched her shoulders, and mumbled. "Yes, my lady."

"It's not so far-fetched," the king told his champion. "Didn't you once 'fall' and break your arm?"

Francesca gave both Liam and Alan twin looks, begging them to help her – to get their parent's attention somewhere else. They met her gaze squarely, telling her silently that this was what she got for not telling them the truth. Never before had she regretted the decision to keep things she viewed as her business alone, to herself.

"Your name is Francesca," Lady Alanna queried, smiling at the girl. "Alan's mentioned you once or twice in letters, but never your fief."

"It's Nond, my lady," Francesca mumbled, looking at her knees.

"It will be best to put a slow healing on your arm," Duke Baird interrupted. "Are you left-handed?" He nodded when Francesca shook her head. "You're lucky then, that you broke the left." He frowned, "You've bruised ribs as well, from your fall, as well?"

Francesca blushed a bit, but mumbled something that sounded like agreement. When the healer finally stepped back, and nodded at his work, Francesca no longer felt tired. She always felt full of energy after a healing. As usual, she avoided everyone's gaze, trying not to notice the looks that the king and the Lioness had been giving her since she'd told them that she was a Nond.

"You seem better," Fianola told her, still studying her with a worried look.

"I always feel hyper after a healing," Francesca admitted with a grimace. "I don't know why. And of course I'm better, I can see from both eyes!"

"You never fight," Liam said shaking his head in confusion. "Why start now?"

Francesca sighed, "It wasn't planned, you know. Truthfully, it's an experience that I could have gone without." She brightened a tiny bit. "On the bright side, I don't _have_ to re-learn anything with my left-hand… though it may be a good idea for the future." She mused.

Alan snorted, "You weren't kidding about being hyper. I don't think I've ever seen you this animated."

Francesca blushed and looked away. Then berated herself, she was a knight-in-training, not some blushing lady trying to catch a husband. Luckily for her, none of her friends seemed to think her behavior any odder than normal, though they were still demanding answers. Finally when they reached the page's wing she stopped and stared at her friends.

"Alright, enough," she told them firmly. "Let's assume, that I _did_ say that I'd been in a fight. So what? You'd want to know who, if it was a fair fight or not, a fact that you've all already drawn your own conclusions to." She met each of their eyes, and saw that they all agree, even if they didn't like it, with her statements. "Then you'll want to know who I fought with. What would be the point? You lot would do something stupid, and I'd feel responsible; now will you please stop asking?"

After a moment of silence Traver spoke. "Um, two questions." Francesca pursed her lips and nodded. "One; does that mean that you are admitting that you fought? And two; what makes you think that we'd do something stupid?"

Francesca grinned at them. "Because," she said, ignoring the first question. "There are too few people in this group that think carefully before they act, and I wouldn't be involved with it, leaving just one." She walked away, grinning as her friends protested that they thought, and would not do something stupid.

When training started up in truth a few days later, Francesca found herself cursing her broken arm repeatedly. It was a lot more work than she'd first thought it would be, doing things one-handed, even when the one hand was her dominant hand. By lunch she was almost as exhausted as she'd been the night before. Her friends talked about the war, Alan had received stories and rumors from the front lines from his mother, and various adopted aunts and uncles. One thing that Alan and the other spoke about caught her attention more than the rest of the conversation.

"When the killing machines just stopped," Alan was saying. "Everyone was so confused, and then the seers starting talking about someone, they called the 'Protector of the Small'."

Francesca shivered. She remembered exactly when the killing machines stopped two years ago. The vision she'd had had been unlike any other; a shadow-y figure that was the 'Protector of the Small', standing tall, a strand weapon in hand, and an assortment of companions ranging from children to old men and women. The worst part was the soft alien voice, so cold and detached, talking about the Protector, and the men and women that fought with the mysterious warrior.

That vision had frightened her more than anything else in her life, and she was pretty sure that she _never_ wanted to meet the Protector of the Small.

"Francesca," Fianola asked, from her tone it was not the first time.

"Sorry, what?" Francesca asked blinking, Fianola rolled her eyes.

"I said, if you could have any knight for your knight master, who would it be?"

"Um," Francesca bit her lip. "Probably, Lady Keladry." She responded as they all headed to turn in their tray to the washers.

A/N: Wow, well first off, thanks to NinjaGirl012, TheRealProtector, oz1dke, and Leppara, for reviewing, this also the most reviews I've gotten for one chapter, yay! Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed, but for whatever reason didn't review. I'm glad you liked the other chapters and I hope you like this one. :) 3


	10. Trouble Brewing

A/N: So… Here we are once again. Thank you, to all of my readers/followers/etc. Thanks to aly-angelflights, sarafine-ecleips, NinjaGirl012, The Booknerds, and TheRealProtector; I really can't tell you guys how happy the reviews make me.

_My dearest Francesca,_

_ Unfortunately, your 'feeling' was right. My parent will not hear of presenting myself at court until my darling brother returns from staring at rocks, snow and northern savages. Another year, at least, they think. Couldn't you just tell me when it will happen and put me out of my misery? Please?_

_Regardless, I am sorry it has been so long since I last wrote you. Ironic, wouldn't you say, since I'm usually the one that is trying to get you to write. You seem happy, and I can't wait until we can talk in person. You have to promise to introduce me to your friends. Have you gotten into any fights? Faleron always said that he lost count of the number of fight he got into. Has the palace turned you into a brawler? What about little Rain? Has he appeared to 'mess-up' your life? Tell me everything._

_Ever your extremely jealous friend,_

_Aisha of King's Reach_

Francesca grinned at the letter then made a face at her finally-out-of-the-sling-after-six-months- arm. The healers had told her that she would have some difficultly straightening it out all the way for a while, and to exercise it while bathing – the warm water would help with the pain of the exercises. (A/N: Just an FYI people, that bit of knowledge comes from personal experience.) Mid-Winter was all but arrived, and Francesca couldn't decide if she liked the chill weather, or hated it. On one hand, she preferred being cold to being hot, on the other, while training she was trapped inside more often than outside.

A sudden weight settled onto Francesca's shoulder as she stood in her room, surprised she grabbed at the thing, and spun to look behind her before she registered the soft fur and musky smell of Rain. The bobcat grumbled when she moved, turning her head she stared at the feline and raised her eyebrows.

"Do you think I'm a perch, or something?" Rain yawned in response.

Shaking her head, feeling mildly amused, Francesca put Rain on the ground, and nearly fell over as someone slammed on her door.

"Come on, Nond," hollered Traver in the hall. "Let's get this done!"

Francesca opened her mouth to respond, and was thrown into a vision. Francesca stumbled to the door, gasping, when she regained her senses. Traver banged on the door and yelled again, making the girl flinch. Quickly wiping her face and taking several deep breaths, Francesca kept her head down, and left her room.

"About time," her friends grumbled. And they all headed off to their classes – it was one week until the Mid-Winter holiday. Francesca couldn't focus in any of their classes. She felt sick and confused and scared.

* * *

About half-way through the first class, Alan noticed that something was wrong. Actually he thought something was wrong when Francesca walked out of her room, but he'd dismissed it. It looked like Francesca was sweating – or crying – she made zero eye-contact, and hadn't talked at all. Not even to make a quietly sarcastic comment to Traver. He couldn't tell if any of their teachers noticed any difference – until Sir Myles' class.

Alan's grandfather seemed to notice Francesca's unusual mood at once. He gave Alan a raised eyebrow look, silently asking what was happening. Alan shrugged. Francesca had a glassy look in her eyes, like she was in shock, but otherwise her face gave nothing away, looking calm and slightly amused, as if she knew something that no-one else did. Which, Alan thought wryly. Was completely possible. When class ended Myles asked Francesca to stay a moment, Alan also hung back, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Is something wrong, Francesca?" the old knight asked in a quiet, kind voice.

Francesca blinked slowly at him, before giving him a slight smile that didn't come near to reaching her eyes. "Of course not, what would be wrong?" Alan frowned, when he heard the level reply. The voice betrayed false happiness, and pleasure – it was the same voice she'd used when she'd spoken to those three girls she known from the convent.

"I don't know," Myles answered. "That's why I asked. You just seem... unusually morose."

"No sir," Francesca replied. "I'm fine, but I thank you for your concern."

"Very well then, off to your next class. And Francesca?" She looked at him with a curious expression. "If you need someone to talk to, I am available." Francesca gave another fake smile and bowed, thanking the knight, before leaving.

Alan exchanged worried looks with his grandfather. Now he knew without a doubt that something was wrong.

* * *

Francesca was feeling suffocated. She needed to get away from people. All she needed to do was get through dinner and tell her friends that she couldn't study with them tonight, and then she could think. Alan was watching her with a strange expression on his face – had been since after Sir Myles class. Normally she would have asked him of something was wrong, but at the moment? There was so much wrong, she didn't want to think about any more. Parts of her vision kept replaying in her head making her was to run away.

Francesca blinked and realized that Fianola had just asked her something.

"Sorry, what," she muttered, pushing the food on her plate around instead of actually eating.

"I said, do you actually understand the math equations that Master Ivor assigned?"

Francesca shrugged and pushed her food around some more.

"I'm done," she told her friends, standing up. They all gave her surprised looks.

"Still going to meet up in the library to study?" Liam asked.

Francesca shook her head. "Not tonight." She walked away with a small wave. She felt their confused gazes on her. Francesca didn't go to her room – people would look for her there first. She walked aimlessly, trying not to think. Thinking lead to bad things.

Stopping suddenly, she looked up at the building in front of her. Balor's Needle. Francesca didn't know how long she stared at it from the bottom, before she found herself climbing it. She stopped about half-way up, resting her head against the stone wall. Every time a thought entered her head she forced herself to focus on breathing, or the movements of her legs or anything that shut out the thoughts. Finally she reached the top. She went to the railing and stared down. She had no fear of heights, but neither was she stupid. Or suicidal. She stood against the solid inner wall, she sat and put her head in her hands; finally, Francesca let herself _think_.

The vision –someone was going to die.

If that person –

_No_, she scolded herself. _If you are going to think, don't be a coward. Numair. Numair Salmalin had died in her vision._

And he hadn't been the only one. The Scanran's weren't quite done with Tortall yet.

_Could I stop it?_ Francesca asked herself. _Would my secret be discovered?_ Francesca always knew that _eventually_ the fact that she was a seer would come out. But she didn't plan on it being _now_. Thoughts raced through her head so fast she couldn't keep track of them. She felt overwhelmed – she was only fifteen – a child still.

Silently, Francesca made a list of the people who had died in her vision.

Numair, two infants whom she sensed were important but didn't recognized, the king and queen, Sir Myles, both Lady knights, several pages and squires she knew, lords and ladies. Too many to count. What chilled her the most, Francesca shivered, the killer.

No, Francesca decided. What scared her the most was the voice; the same voice that had spoken of the Protector of the Small. The voice that told her to stop it all.

"Why me," she whispered to herself. "I'm only a page – a second-year page at that. Why not a knight? Or a powerful mage?" Then she winced, remembering her vision. No, that probably wouldn't work out well. But how was she supposed to stop it. She didn't even know _when…_

"Wait," she breathed, jumping up to pace. "The children, maybe they aren't born. And the Copper Isles representative. We have no peace with them; maybe… maybe I have time…"

_Not that you know what you could do with time,_ a snide voice in her head sneered. _So little to go on. Maybe it all happens next week._ Francesca tried to shove that voice away, unsuccessfully. Feeling only slightly less depressed and calm, she walked down, taking the inner stair once more. She met Alan at the bottom.

"What," she began.

"I could ask you the same thing," he told her stiffly. "What were you doing up there?"

"Thinking," she replied honestly.

"Thinking," he repeated. "On Balor's Needle. Where pages are forbidden to go." His words were flat.

Francesca scoffed one foot in the dirt, and shrugged, fighting a blush. Not very smart on her part. "Yes," for some reason she felt the need to explain. "I – I just needed to… get away from –everyone, everything." She shrugged again. "Seemed like a good place."

Francesca had never seen Alan lose his temper, but she realized that he was dangerously close.

"And I guess that these thoughts most have gone fine, since the palace guards won't have to clean you off some roofs, or the ground." He snapped at her and began to stride away. For a moment Francesca stared after him, her jaw hanging open.

She ran to catch up to him. "Wait a second," she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. He glared straight ahead. "You think I went up there to think about _jumping_?" Francesca demanded, appalled. "Why in Shikath's name would I do that?" Finally, Alan looked at her.

"Then why were you up there?" Now Francesca was getting angry.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Alan. I was up there thinking, I already told you that," she told him warning. They were facing each other now, and Francesca silently cursed the few inches of height that Alan had on her; she hated having to look up at people. At that moment, some servant walked into the hall, and Alan let the subject drop. The two walked stiffly back to the page's wing, looking anywhere but at their companion. Francesca went into her room and started class work she used all of her focus to think about nothing but the assignment – not Alan and their almost fight, not the vision. It worked until she went to sleep; there she thrashed and fought to fall asleep. Rain finally gave up and left, disgusted with her.

* * *

Rain gave one final glare at the twolegger-friend, and left to find the twolegger-who-is-People. It did not take long before he found her, she was healing a rabbit. Rain curled his lip and waited.

_I don't understand why you bother with prey;_ he told her when she finished. The twolegger-who-is-People smiled at him.

"They're my friends too," she told him. Rain twitched an ear, staring at her. "Did you just come for a visit?"

_No,_ Rain told her as he washed a paw. _She did the staring thing again and got frightened. Tell her to stop if it scares her. Why do twoleggers do things that frighten them?_ Rain flicked an ear and curled his lip. _Now she won't sleep, it's irritating, because now I much watch over her more carefully._

"What staring thing?" Daine asked him, seeming confused.

Rain showed her an image of Francesca staring at nothing. _She does it a lot, sometimes she's fine, and other she's afraid. Like when the cold-scent comes with the staring. _Rain licked at his chest and thought. _The last time she smelled like the cold-scent, she didn't sleep for a long time._

Daine hesitated. "I don't know if I can help," she told the bobcat. "I don't know what the staring thing is."

_It's why she's afraid of the stork-man._ Rain said irritated.

Daine blinked, and frowned. "I'll see what I can do." She promised the bobcat.

A/N: Duh, duh duhhhh! That darn Rain! He just always get Daine and Numair involved. Well, I hope you liked it! Please review!


	11. Mid-Winter Conversations

A/N: So here we are once more Thanks for the reviews; sarafine-ecleips, NinjaGirl012, tamorapiercefanatic, ann, and missgrant. A few quick notes, NinjaGirl012: I think you mean Alan and Francesca, but I'm glad you liked it regardless. Tamorapiercefanatic: Remember, they may not die, Francesca just has to figure out how to stop it – I know, my plot gremlins are MEAN! Sarafine-ecleips: Here's more for ya!

Francesca sighed and leaned against Snowstorm's warm, solid side, idly wondering if she might get some peaceful sleep out here. It was Sunday, and she'd had next to no sleep since she'd had the vision. On top of that, since their almost fight, Alan had seemed to be always angry about _something_; even their other friends had noticed.

_If I didn't have other things to worry about,_ Francesca thought tiredly, and a bit guiltily. _I'd just ask him flat out what his problem was._ Part of her felt like a bad friend for not being more concerned, while another part pointed out that she was trying to find a way to keep a large part of Alan's family – adopted and blood – alive.

"Hello," Francesca jumped a bit and blinked at the wild mage, who was standing outside Snowstorm's stall.

"Hello, my lady," Francesca gave her a small smile. Before either woman could say anything else, Rain jumped up to lay across the door of the stall. "There you are," Francesca told the bobcat. "I wondered of someone saw you and hunted you down. I guess not."

Daine ginned at her. "He says that most twoleggers are too stupid and slow to spot him, let alone catch him."

With a lopsided smile, Francesca agreed.

"He's worried about you," Daine told her after a moment.

"Oh," Francesca asked, waving at Fianola and Alan who'd just walked into the stables.

"Francesca," Daine seemed to hesitate for a second. "Have you ever been into the Chapel of the Ordeal?"

"What," Francesca gave Daine all of her attention. "No, of course not. It's forbidden for pages."

"Not that that's stopped you before," Alan muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

Francesca clenched her jaw; Alan hadn't said anything to their friends about seeing her walk down from Balor's Needle, so why he was bringing it up now left Francesca confused.

"Why do you ask," Francesca said to the wild mage, pointedly ignoring Alan. For now.

"Rain's worried about you," Daine told her bluntly. "Something about 'the staring thing'," Daine shrugged. It took all of Francesca's self-control not to stiffen or start cursing Rain. "He also mentioned something that I'd heard from another animal, who was referring to the Chamber of Ordeal."

Francesca swallowed hard, and went back to brushing her horse. "I don't know what he was referring to, my lady." She told the older woman in her most earnest, almost bored, unconcerned voice.

Diane was silent for a moment. "Are you afraid of Numair," it was worded like a question, but the wild mage said it like a statement. Thankfully, whatever anger Alan felt towards her did not stop him from helping her.

"Auntie Daine," Alan said reasonably. "Half of the Eastern and Southern Lands are afraid of Uncle Numair. Francesca's shy, she was afraid of you when she first met you." Francesca refrain from clarifying that she _hadn't_ been afraid – Alan was trying to help, so she let him. "Heck, she was afraid of me, too."

The wild mage seemed to accept that, or she didn't feel like arguing about it. Either way she bid them all a good day and left. Francesca leaned hard against the side of the stall.

"Anyone want a pesky bobcat, without any manners?" she asked her friends in an attempt to distract them. It didn't work.

"You had a vision," Fianola demanded in a whisper. "When? And why did Rain tell Daine about it?"

Francesca shrugged, not looking at them.

"Did you go into the Chapel of the Ordeal," Alan demanded.

Francesca frowned at him. "Of course not," she told him, feeling offended. "It's off limits to pages, you know that."

"So is Balor's Needle," Alan shot back. At this point they were glaring at each other. Fianola was glancing between them, as if trying to figure out whose side to be on. Francesca turned away, putting up the brushes before leaving Snowstorm's stall.

"Drop it, Alan," she warned him. Honestly, if he wanted to confront her about it _in private_, she _might_ tell him something. But at the moment, she didn't want all of her friends to know.

"Okay, so I think this has something to do with why Alan has been snapping at everyone all week," Fianola said in a chipper voice, Alan shot her a glare, which she ignored. Francesca ignored them both and was walking steadily towards the palace. She was about halfway there when she heard a familiar voice call her name. Excitement flooded her as she remembered the vision of her brother returning to the palace during Mid-Winter, she turned and sure enough saw Aiden waving at her.

Just like in the vision all those months ago, Francesca yelped and ran to her brother. Throwing her arms around him, Aiden picked her up and spun her around, when he set her down he held her at arm's length. "Let's see," he said teasingly. "Both arms, both legs, your head's still attached. How many times have you gotten bashed on the head?"

"Only a time or two. I duck," she replied flippantly. "I didn't expect you back for midwinter," she told him. Then grinned, "Actually I did, but that's not the point."

"My lord's thinking about taking a squire, also the war's all but over, and we need to refill the ranks." Francesca laughed and shoved him.

"I know. Go bathe," she ordered. Aiden gave an ironic salute and she shoved him again. They hugged again and her brother went to find his bath. Rejoining her friends, Francesca didn't really notice the strange looks they gave her. They were at lunch before Alan or Fianola said anything.

"So," Fianola said, drawling the word. "That was a friendly greeting with…"

Francesca frowned at her friends before she realized what Fianola was getting at.

Francesca snorted, "That was my brother, Aiden." She explained, and saw all of their expressions clear.

"I thought that it was weird when Alan said you threw yourself at some guy," Liam said. Francesca choked on the drink she'd just taken. When she could finally breathe, she gave Alan a sour look.

"So I 'threw myself at some guy', huh?" Alan flushed a bit, and kicked Liam, but didn't answer Francesca's question.

"Didn't you say that your brother was in the King's Own," Traver interrupted, Francesca nodded. "Why are they here, instead of in the North?"

"To restock the ranks," Francesca answered, buttering a roll. "And Lord Raoul is going to take a squire."

"Really…" Fianola narrowed her eyes and leaned towards her. "You know who it is, don't you." She accused, and Francesca couldn't stop a satisfied smile from crossing her face.

"Tell," all of her friends demanded at once, causing her to laugh. She refused to her friends' irritation.

Later in the day, Alan cornered her, standing with his arms crossed and a fierce expression on his face. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Francesca told him, he looked surprised. "Do I have to guess, or will you tell me?"

"Why did you go to Balor's Needle," Francesca sighed and rubbed her head.

"You're like a dog with a bone, you know that. I told you before I went there to think. Honestly, I just kind of ended up there without realizing it."

"Why did you climb it then?"

"Two reasons," Francesca told him tiredly. "First, I'd just like to say that I _hate_ explaining myself, but I digress. I went up, because it was someplace nobody would look for me, and it was peaceful. I could _think._ I didn't feel…suffocated."

"Why did you feel suffocated," Alan sat across from her, no longer standing over her.

Francesca gave him a look that held much more sadness than she realized. It occurred to Alan, that something when they were all laughing and joking, Francesca would get that ancient, sad look in her eyes. That look that said that she knew things that no one else did; that no one else _wanted_ to know.

"I can't stop the visions," she told him quietly. "When I was a child, I had a vision of people dying in a landslide. There was nothing I, or anyone else, could do. Do you know what it's like? Knowing something terrible is going to happen? And you can't stop it? Or worse, you can, but have no idea how? Sometimes it just gets overwhelming. I look at people my own age and think 'Oh is this person going to actually live to a decent age? Or are they going to die in some stupid, uncontrollable accident?' I ask myself if I can stop most of those accidents. Sometimes…it's just too much."

Alan was silent for a long time, letting her words sink in. "Do you want to talk about the vision you had last week," Alan ask cautiously.

"Not really," Francesca told him dully. "Let's just say; blood, death, horror, and apparently it's up to me to stop it."

"Why do you say that," Alan asked.

"It was a prophecy," she told him. "Just like the Protector of the Small." When Alan made a questioning sound, Francesca explained. "'The Protector of the Small will come; with the knowing animals, the healer and the horse boy, the armed men and the marked men, the trapper and the bitter mother; Blayce the Gallan and the killing machines will fall';" she quoted. "I had that prophecy several years ago, from what I heard; every seer in the Eastern Lands received it as well. There was much debate over _who_ the Protector of the Small is, and the King and Queen chose to keep it quiet, to give them a fighting chance."

"Don't the gods send prophecies," he asked.

"Maybe, I just know that whatever sent the prophecy about the Protector of the Small also sent the other one." Francesca shrugged, staring morosely out the library window. "The only good thing about it is that I have time… a few years, at least. Can we talk about something else, please?"

Alan was quiet, and then grinned at her. "In her last letter, my mom asked if your arm was healed, and wanted me to tell you to 'hit low' next time."

Francesca groaned and slugged his arm. "Oh, thank you," she told him in a scathing tone. "I had temporarily blocked out the fact that your mother and the king say me beaten to a bloody pulp, thank you for reminding me."

"You're welcome," he responded cheerfully. She glowered at him for a moment, before standing and stretching.

"Don't mention this to the others, okay? I don't want too many people knowing."

"That's understandable," he told her. "Not that I could tell them much, since you haven't told me much." He pointed out practically. "In return you can tell me who Lord Raoul will pick as his squire. Or who will win my bet with Fianola."

"I could tell you," she acknowledged. "But I won't. Suffer in ignorance." They parted ways in the page's wing. Francesca did as many of the press-up Fianola had taught her as she could, her left arm tired quickly. With ruthless determination, Francesca forced herself to do several with only her left hand, to help strengthen it.

Francesca did as many exercises as she could think of, despite it being past lights out, until she was so tired she could barely move. Sadly, that did not help her sleep.

* * *

Rain slipped in the window, shooting one last glare at the snow outside. He shook the melted snow from his pelt and began to wash, thinking. He didn't mind snow, usually, but hated when it melted on his pelt, and left him soaked. Being wet like that made him remember things he felt were pointless to think about.

He glanced towards the bed, where Francesca tossed and turned. He didn't think about the past before he's met her, never worried about the future either. Neither had his mother or three littermates. He'd met Francesca when his mother had started to teach him to hunt. Those memories were much hazy-er and confusing than the ones after he met Francesca.

Somehow, she'd found him, in that damp forest while he waited for his family to move. The twolegger-who-is-bobcat, had explained to him that his family was killed in a trap. She couldn't explain why the twolegger-friend-Francesca had not just left him or killed him.

The twolegger-who-is-People and the twolegger-who-is-bobcat have both asked him why he stays with twolegger-friend-Francesca; he stayed with her because she never tried to trap him, and because he wanted to know _why_ she'd helped him.

Deciding that he'd have to try something else to help her, since talking to the twolegger-who-is-People didn't do anything; Rain shook himself one final time, and curled up by twolegger-friend-Francesca's head, and slept.

* * *

Francesca stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment, contemplating cutting off her hair; Rain had made a game out of attacking the end of the braid. A knock at her door saved her hair, for now. Opening the door reviled Fianola.

"I need help," she declared, walking into the room.

"With what," Francesca began, in answer Fianola threw her tunic at Francesca's head. Examining it, Francesca found a long rip in it. "I can fix this," she told her friend with a nod. Fianola seemed relieved. As Francesca sewed, she asked, "What are the boys doing?"

"Who knows," Fianola shrugged, Francesca chuckled.

"Do you remember last year? Traver looked like he'd let his horse _eat_ his hair, it was so messy. I thought Master Oakbridge was going to kill him."

"Alan wasn't much better," Fianola remembered. "I think he used the shirt to clean up spilled ink or something."

The two laughed over the memories, as Francesca finished mending the tunic. When it was done, she held it up to inspect, before giving it to Fianola.

"Sometimes it still shocks me to see you do things like that," she confessed. "I would have stuck myself a half dozen times, at least."

"If you had the same experiences, you would be just as proficient. Come on, let's go get the boys."

Knocking on Traver and Liam's doors got not answer, nor did Lokak's, when they reached Alan's they didn't knock, they could hear raised voices. Exchanging a glance, Fianola slowly opened the door. The scene inside was chaos; the boys seemed to be trying to get their hair to lie flat by…drowning each other? Traver's cloths appeared inside out, and had sweat stains. Liam was the most neatly dressed, but he seemed to be having trouble with his hair. Alan's hair, shirt, hose and face appeared to be fighting to be the reddest. Lokak seemed so nervous that the girls worried that he might faint. All four boy's hair was soaked.

The two girls didn't watch for more than a few moments before the started to laugh. To Francesca's eyes it seemed the boys were _more_ panicked than any court lady, and with fewer results. As one the boys spun to see Fianola and Francesca laughing so hard they couldn't stand up. When they finally stopped laughing – mostly – Francesca and Fianola walked in to help their friends.

The boys accepted the help gratefully, and in a short time they were all walking to report to the Master of Ceremonies.

"You know that if you needed help, you could have come and asked," Francesca pointed out practically.

"Fianola's not much a help," Traver argued. "She always has tears in her clothes."

"Besides, we know you did like that time you spent at the convent," Liam told her.

"We didn't want to ask, in case you found it rude," Alan explained.

Francesca gave them all a strange look. "I didn't realize I was that sensitive," she remarked dryly. "Next time you need help, just ask."

They arrived a bit early and waited for Master Oakbridge to explain their duties and positions. This year, Francesca actually paid attention, knowing that it would be important. Memorizing her position she realized that she would likely be waiting on people of some importance.

Looking at who she had to wait on for the feast, Francesca cursed. Did Master Oakbridge do this to be cruel? Or did he just not realize that he was probably going to have to find a new place for her tomorrow?

"Do you see your table," Liam asked quietly, from beside her.

"Yes," she growled, unhappily. "_Court ladies_," she told him, making the words sound like a curse. She didn't say anymore, as they were sent to take the finger bowls to their tables. The closer she got to the table, the more frustrated she became with the assignment. She saw several women at the table that she couldn't stand, and one or two friends. Silently praying that she wouldn't be recognized, Francesca began to offer the finger bowls to the ladies.

By the time the fish course was being served, Francesca's jaw hurt from clenching it. She stood by Alan, waiting for the plates to be handed to her.

"Do you think that I would get away with 'accidentally' dropping the dish in their laps," she asked him in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Doubt it," he told her with a grin.

With a sigh she took the plates and returned to the table. When she got there, one of the ladies who seemed to find joy in being nasty, lean towards her. "Tell me, Francesca dear. Did your parents send you here because it was your only chance to find a husband?"

Francesca, tired of ignoring these barbs, gave the lady a pleasant smile and laughed softly. "Oh no, not at all. After all, I need not employ such trickery should I desire to marry. Why, did your family discuss the option?" the lady's face flushed in fury. "Oh, dear you really shouldn't wear that color, it makes you look," she lowered her voice. "Like a trollop. Just a piece of friendly advice."

Walking away, Francesca felt very satisfied, for the rest of the meal, none of the other attempted to taunt her.

_Now, if only I could figure out the prophecy,_ Francesca thought with a bit a cheer that evening.

A/N: Wow, this is the longest chapter. Wow, is it too long? Anyway, I just wanted to say that I think I should get a Beta reader, because, well I don't read my own writing, so I know I don't always catch mistakes. Let me know if you are interested.


	12. A Little Accident

A/N: So, here we go. Some of you may be asking, why so many updates in such a short amount of time? Well, it's because my plot gremlins are going crazy, and in a week or so, I'll be out of town, so the opportunity to update, maybe even write, will be next to nonexistent.

Thanks for reviewing: The Booknerds, TheRealProtector, and idleness

The months between Mid-Winter, and the exams seems to disappear in a blink. As she expected, no page failed the exams. Fianola and Alan bugged her every day, asking when they would get their knight-masters, as no knight had approached them, two days after the exam. Francesca didn't answer, and feeling annoyed convinced them to duel each other, telling them that would mean their future knight-masters would approach them.

She leaned against the fence with Traver and Liam, watching the two new squires. She ignored her friends' suggestion that she tell Lokak about being a seer, telling them that she'd never intended to tell _them_, and why in Shakith's name would she tell someone else?

"Who's expected to win?" A voice nearby asked. Turning, Francesca found Lord Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak.

"Could be either, my lord." Francesca responded. "Alan is taller, but Fianola works harder."

"Are you next up?" He asked, sounding amused.

"No, my lord. I just thought I come watch the show."

"Oh? Is seeing them dual so entertaining?"

"No, but rumor has it that Alan's mom is sending a potential knight master to speak with him. His reaction. That is the show I want to see."

Lord Raoul chuckled and leaned on the fence next to her. Francesca found that she wasn't uncomfortable at all, perhaps because she knew who –

"Oomph," she said, stumbling forward as Rain catapulted onto her back, yowling. "What are you," she began, as he launched himself off her back and shoulder, and straight towards a small flock of sparrows who shrieked and scattered, before coming back to attack him.

"Stop that," Francesca ordered crossly as Rain swiped at them. "Leave them be, they live here too. If you're hungry, why not go hunting for more than a mouthful." She scolded the feline, while saving him from the birds. Rain hissed at something that growled in response. Glancing up she saw a very ugly dog. One ear war tattered, the tail was twice broke and it was covered with scars.

"Jump, Nari, that's enough," a voice ordered. Francesca picked up Rain before looking for the voice. When she did she felt her throat go dry.

Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan smile slightly at her. Francesca's eyes dropped as she gave a quick bow and muttered a greeting, before she scurried away, trying to hide between Traver and Liam. Rain was making it difficult, as he was complaining loudly. Finally Fianola and Alan stopped the duel to tell her to shut up the bobcat.

"I can't make him anything," she told them for what felt like the millionth time.

"A bobcat makes a strange pet," Lord Raoul remarked cheerfully. "Though not as strange as a griffin."

"He's not a pet," Francesca said.

"He wasn't a pet, sir." Lady Keladry said at the same time.

Fianola and Alan seeing that their audience had grown stopped the duel to greet the two knights. Francesca did her best to hide, but was unsuccessful when Rain wouldn't shut up. Finally she dropped him, with a threat of a bath if he attacked the sparrows again. He didn't, but Francesca realized that she'd gained both knight's attention.

"He's very smart for a wild animal," Keladry said. "Has he been around the palace long?"

"No, my lady," Francesca muttered.

"Francesca found him near her home," Alan explained to both knights. "She has a maid that has wild magic with cats, and Rain has followed her around since."

"Rain," Lord Raoul asked, Alan shrugged.

"He didn't have a name when I found him," Francesca muttered. "Milli said that wild animals only get names that say something about them. It was raining when I found him, so I called him 'Rain'" the girl shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.

She fidgeted trying to find a tactful way to escape.

"Francesca's shy," Traver explained, drawing even more attention to her. Francesca wondered if she would be able to escape the situation at all.

She thought about just turning tail and running, when a boy of about twelve walked up. She frowned at him, he looked vaguely familiar, but where… When she realized where she'd seen the boy before, she felt extremely light-headed. She'd seen him in a vision. The one about the Protector of the Small. Her eyes shot to the Lady Knight, and the irony of the situation was not lost on her.

Lady Keladry, as she'd once told her friends, was her ideal knight-mistress. The Protector of the Small was a shadowy figure that terrified her; of course they would be one in the same. The only thing that prevented Francesca from running right then was the chance – however slim, that she was wrong. That the Protector of the Small and the Lady Knight were _not_ the same person.

"There's our dear Protector of the Small," a cheerful voice called out. The lady knight made a face and turned to face the new comers. Alan, remembering the talk they'd had about prophecies glanced at Francesca to find her walking away so fast she might as well be running.

Looking at Fianola, Liam and Traver, Alan realized that he wasn't the only one to see Francesca's escape. The four excused themselves to go find their friend. They found her seated on the floor, back against the wall, head resting on her knees and arms around her legs. Rain was pawing at her, making questioning cat-like noises.

"Francesca," Fianola asked. "What are you doing?"

"Wondering, if it is possible to breathe so fast, that you actual are _not_ breathing, and how quickly and painlessly a death that is. What are you doing?"

"Why," Liam asked, nonplussed.

"Call it a hobby," she replied dryly. Raising her head Francesca gave her friends what she hoped passed as a smile. "I'm fine," she assured them, standing up. "I've got to finish packing." Francesca shooed Traver and Liam away, and sent Alan back to the knights, all without her friends releasing that she'd done so. She and Fianola were heading back towards the page's wing, when Fianola grimaced and placed one hand over her abdomen.

"Cramps," Francesca asked with sympathy. Fianola nodded, making a face. "I have some willow tea, if you want some."

"Thanks, but save it for yourself. I think I'll go get some from the healer's." With a wave she headed off, Francesca felt confident that her friends would soon have their knight-masters.

It was not long after she returned to her room that someone knocked on her door. When she opened it, Alan grinned at her. "You knew," he accused.

"Knew what," she responded with false innocence.

Shaking his head, Alan told her. "Lord Raoul is my knight-master."

"Congratulations," Francesca went back to packing. "By the way, you won the bet."

Laughing, Alan told her, "One day something's going to happen, and you're not going to know about it before hand."

"That happens all the time," she responded breezily. "So, you'll find that I am not concerned."

He left then, still laughing. On her way to dinner that evening, Fianola called out to her.

"Francesca!" the girl turned to find Fianola bouncing, eyes bright with excitement.

"What," she asked her friend, though she already knew.

"A knight just approached me!" the newly made squire all but squealed. Francesca had to bit her lip to stop from laughing.

"Who," she asked, not telling her friend that Alan had beaten her to getting a knight master.

"Sir Nealan of Queenscove," Fianola told her. "He's the lady knight's best friend, that's almost as good. And I have a knight master before Alan, so I win our bet."

"That's great," Francesca told her. "But… Alan wins the bet."

"What, no. Who?"

"Sir Raoul," Fianola scowled.

"That's cheating," the squire grumbled, Francesca chuckled. The two women continued walking, Fianola's mood dampened slightly. When she saw Alan in the mess, she scowled and looked as though she contemplating throwing something at him.

* * *

They next day, the pages left on the summer training camp. To her intense relief, the training camp was uneventful, with one brief exception.

Francesca began to map the area the training master had assigned their group, ignoring the other pages. In addition to Liam, and Marrek of Irontown, in Francesca's group was Gian of Genlith, Hamrath of Runnerspring, Lofren of Meron, and Oswel of Irenroha; the four pages who had attacked her earlier in the year. She wasn't worried that any of them would try anything – they never did when others were around. Moving closer to the edge of a cliff that dropped down into a river, Francesca quickly sketched that part of her map. As she was about to move away from the edge, she heard a low giggle – the type that someone can't quite suppress when they're about to do something that they know they shouldn't.

She was unable to turn fast enough to see who pushed her over the edge. Yelp of surprise was torn from her as she fell. She scrabbled at the cliff face, trying to find a hand or foot hold. When she found one, Francesca managed to hang on for barely a minute, before the rock broke in her hand. Her back slammed into something solid, knocking the breath from her, when water didn't swallow her, Francesca hazily realized that she hadn't fallen into the river. When she could breathe, she slowly sat up and looked around. She'd landed on a small ledge that she'd not seen from the top. Hearing shouts she peered up, several pages peered over the edge, clearly trying to see where she'd entered the water.

Taking a deep breath, despite her protesting ribs and lungs, Francesca called up to them, waving her arms. When they saw her one of them – Liam shouted for her to stay there.

"Where does he think I'm gonna go," she asked herself, shaking her head and looking around. She was about twenty feet from the water, and closer to thirty feet from the top. If she hadn't caught that handhold halfway down, then she probably would be dead. Reason told her that she probably shouldn't be moving, the adrenaline from the fall might be masking serious injuries. All of the pages carried rope, but she didn't think that any of it would be long enough…Francesca blinked and realized that she'd been staring at nothing for sometime.

Mentally shaking herself, she took stock of her injuries; her entire back felt like one big bruise, her fingernails all were cracked or torn, and she had a headache. She also felt lightheaded. She dismissed it as unimportant. She looked down at the water again. She was nearly positive that this was the same river that flowed by their camp, and the current was headed in the right direction. Maybe she should just jump in and let the water carry her back? Her head hurt, and was becoming harder to ignore.

She heard someone from the top – Liam? – call her name, and toss down the rope. They'd tied together the lengths of rope that each page carried. For some reason it struck Francesca as funny, the same boy who'd pushed her, now had to help her. She had to bite her lip hard to stop from laughing aloud. Gingerly, she took the rope; she tied it around her waist, and used the rest of it to help her climb.

It was hard work, several times she found herself wondering what she was doing, and why she'd taken this route instead of the river. Sweat, warm and sticky ran down her back, which was odd because she was also shivering. When she finally reached the top, Francesca stumbled away from the edge and sat down, hard. She blinked at the others; Liam offered her a water skin. Taking it, Francesca sipped it, still trying to figure out why she was sitting when she'd not told her legs to fold.

"You're bleeding," Marrek exclaimed, and Francesca winced. He was loud.

"Just a bit," she responded, then frowned. Her voice sounded funny. "Besides, it's no big deal."

"No big deal," Liam demanded, seeming just as concerned as Marrek. Why did they care if her hands were bleeding?

"It's just my hands," she told them, holding up the appendages in question. "I can take care of it later."

They all stared at her. "Francesca," Liam began slowly, as if she was a skittish animal that may bolt. "Your head is bleeding…heavily."

Francesca blinked at him slowly. When his words had processed she simply said, "Oh, no wonder my head hurts." When no one moved or said anything, Francesca felt the need to add. "I should probably stop the bleeding."

Francesca wasn't quite sure how she and the other pages got back to the camp, they entire trip being a blur, she only realized that they were in the camp when the training master demanded to know what had happened.

Francesca blinked up at him, and, since no one else had, answered him. "I fell," when the training master, and the two Shang masters stared at her, Francesca felt compelled to add. "Off a cliff."

Still no one said anything; the other pages seemed to be trying to figure out what to say, their teachers seemed to be trying to figure out whom to punish and how severely.

"Is my head still bleeding," she asked Liam, to break the silence. "I think it's still bleeding. And I'm tired. Where's Rain?"

Liam quickly said something about Francesca talking non-sense about rain since she fell, which Francesca didn't understand. Something was tickling the back of her mind…something about Rain, and they training master… Letting it go as unimportant, Francesca tried to pay attention to what the others were saying around her.

Before long, all the pages were back and on horseback, heading towards the nearest village. Confused, Francesca turned towards the Wildcat, who rode next to her, and watched her carefully.

"Why are we going to the village," Francesca asked, she was tired and wanted to sleep. Plus, the motion of the horse made her head hurt more.

"You need that head seen to," the Wildcat told her, from the tone of her voice, Francesca felt as though the answer should have been obvious. "There aren't any healers' with us." Francesca nodded, and then winced as her head pounded.

Francesca allowed her mind to drift, as it was too much work to focus on one thing, or anything. She was off Snowstorm and swept into a small building before she had a chance to protest. When the healer walked in, Francesca blinked at him, before scowling towards the Wildcat, who kept poking her sharply, whenever Francesca was almost asleep. For some reason he looked familiar, but she couldn't quite…

"Oh," she said in a light voice. "The healer; of course." She'd seen this man in the Protector of the Small vision. Looking past the healer, she saw Fianola.

"What happened," the healer asked, Francesca belatedly realized that it was Sir Nealan.

"I fell," she told him, thinking that as a healer he should have figured out that much for himself.

"Like you 'fell', last year and broke your arm," Fianola asked sarcastically.

Francesca frowned at her, "No," she said in her most reasonable tone. "Then I was jumped by four others. This time I fell off a cliff." She paused and added. "I shouldn't have said that."

"How did you fall off a cliff," Francesca wasn't sure who said that. Sir Nealan seemed to be working on her head, the pain was disappearing and the relief was shocking.

"Someone pushed me, how else, I certainly didn't throw myself off a cliff," she responded practically.

"Stop talking," Sir Nealan ordered. Francesca stopped talking, mostly because her head began to pound again.

Francesca wasn't sure how much time had passed when she realized that Sir Nealan stepped away and nodded, signaling to the Wildcat that his work was done. Her head still felt tender, and she had a headache, but she wasn't having trouble focusing, and didn't feel light-headed anymore.

"Thank you," she said to the knight.

"Get a proper healer to look at it when you return to Corus," he ordered.

"May I go wash now," Francesca asked the Shang master that stood next to her. "And change?"

When the Wildcat nodded Francesca went to find her pack, then the bathhouse in the village.

Later, when the training master questioned her, Francesca had to tell him repeatedly that she did not know who'd pushed her. Francesca had played with the idea of denying that anyone had pushed her, but decided that it was pointless, since the Wildcat had heard her tell Fianola and Sir Nealan that she'd been push. None of the boys claimed to have seen who'd done it either. Francesca believed that Liam and Marrek didn't know, but she did not trust the other four. All of the boys in her group, as a result, were given punishment work for the remainder of the training camp, and to be continued when they returned in the fall.

When the training camp was over, Francesca did as Sir Nealan had ordered, and was told that she should be fine, so long as she doesn't take another bump to the head any time soon. With relief, Francesca realized that she had two months to relax before she needed to face the four boys who'd tried to kill her.


	13. Conversations

A/N: Yeah, here's the next one. I hope the last chapter wasn't too much of a downer, towards the end. Also, this is the last day I have before –sort of – going on vacation, where I'm not sure if I'll have time/ a chance to write/update, so I figured I'd give ya'll this chapter too. Hope you like it!

Thanks for the reviews; sarafine-ecleips, Moored Mermaid. (Please see bottom for comments.^.^)

Francesca was not a coward by nature. Though she believed that many problems would solve themselves if the situation was not antagonized, there was a time and place for everything. At first, she had seen no point in reporting, or attempting to pay the boys who'd attacked her back, now however, after one of them had pushed her off a cliff that may have very easily killed her, Francesca felt it was time to push back. She also realized that her friends would want to help, and that was another issue she'd have to deal with.

She was not surprised to receive no letter from either of her parents, though the training master had sent word to them of her accident. She'd not been back in the capital two weeks before Aiden came upon her with she practiced her unarmed combat in the free hours of the summer.

"You're not going to quit, are you?" he asked after watching her in silence for some time.

"No, I'm not," Francesca stopped to look at her brother. She could see the concern shinning in his eyes. As much as it shamed her to admit it, she was glad that it was there.

"You could have died," he pointed out, as if she didn't realize it.

"And so could you," she returned. "When you fought in the north, or the next time the Own goes after bandits, or goes to help some village during a landslide, or some such. Should either one of us hide and cower because we _may_ die?"

"When are you going to tell mother and father?" Francesca bit her lip; Aiden didn't know how poor her relationship with their parents was, as he was often busy with the Own.

"They already know, Lord Padraig sent a letter to inform them," she said, careful to keep her voice light and even.

"And," Aiden prompted.

Francesca shrugged, "I haven't heard anything from them," she responded without meeting his eyes.

After a pause, Aiden asked, "When was the last time you heard from them?"

"Father sent a letter last summer," Francesca replied, neglecting to mention that the 'letter' had been barely two words. Her relationship with her father wasn't all that unusual, as many fathers treated their daughters as disappointments, or viewed them as their wives' or mothers' problem.

"And mother," Aiden prompted again, Francesca thought that he was beginning to see where it was going.

"A few years, at least." She told him after thinking for a moment. "Since I first mentioned wanting my shield, I think."

"I'm sorry," Aiden said quietly.

"Why," Francesca asked, gently. "We both know the type of daughter that mother wanted. I've never been that daughter, more than that, after I was born she was unable to have more children, she's always blamed me for that, even when I was a baby. I learned very early on, that if I can't please someone, I must be content with being happy with my choices."

Aiden smiled at her. "You're older than you've a right to be." He said it in a light, teasing way, but to Francesca it merely reminded her of her struggle to live without being ruled by her visions. It wasn't long after that that Aiden left to do whatever it was that Sergeants in the King's Own did when they weren't in the field.

Shortly after lunch, Francesca went for a short ride to let Night stretch her legs. When she let the mare run, the speed she could achieve always took Francesca's breath away for a moment. They stopped by a stream to let Night drink, and so Francesca could think.

She needed to deal with those four pages, but confronting them all at once was stupid. They youngest page, Oswel of Irenroha, would be the easiest target. The others were now fourth-year pages, and her instincts were saying that she should stay out of their way. She was brought from her musings, when Night, who'd been grazing, lifted her head and nickered at someone who was on the path.

Lady Knight Keladry along with the young boy, who appeared to be a servant of some sort, seemed just as surprised as she was. What surprised Francesca even more was when Night danced over to the boy, acting like a foal.

After a few seconds of patting and murmuring to the horse, the boy looked at her. "You should exercise her more."

Francesca was confused for a moment when it hit her. "The horse boy," she muttered to herself. To the knight and boy she replied. "I wish I had more time to. I take her for a run every chance I get, but," she grimaced and made a 'what can you do', gesture. "Page training does not allow you much free time."

The boy and knight both started when Rain seemed to drop into the saddle from nowhere; Night, used to this merely flicked her tail. The strawberry roan the knight rode, eyed both Rain and Night, as though he considered attacking. Rain hissed at the gelding, and launched himself at Francesca.

She caught him without effort, though he was defiantly growing, she looked down at the now, nearly grown male bobcat. "I think you're getting fat," she told him, he bared his teeth in response. Glancing at the knight, Francesca saw the she had a small smile on her face.

"It's Francesca of Nond, right?" the lady knight asked with a smile.

"Yes, my lady. It is kind of you to remember me." She hesitated then added. "I'd bow, but then Rain would get fussy."

Keladry chuckled and handed her reins to the boy who stood next to her; he led the roan and the piebald he'd been riding to the stream to drink.

"I heard you'd gotten a bump on the head during the training camp," the older woman said. "All fixed now?"

Francesca wondered for a moment how the lady had heard, then answered. "Yes my lady. If you don't mind my asking, how did you know?"

"Sir Nealan, the healer who'd seen to you, felt the need to inform me. Something about it being proof, that anyone who tries for their shield having something wrong with their head." Francesca vaguely remembered a rant along those lines, but that entire time was fuzzy in her memory. "Was the person who pushed you named?"

"What makes you think someone pushed me," Francesca asked. "The edge of the cliff could have crumbled."

"True, but when you admitted to being push in front of a healer, a squire, and the Shang Wildcat," she let the rest of the sentence hang.

"I had a head wound," Francesca replied with a false earnest expression that she's master in the convent. "You can hardly trust the word of someone with a head wound, they speak nonsense."

The lady knight threw her head back and laughed. "However," Francesca continued. "Everyone present at the time of the…accident, received punishment work, and other penalties. I don't remember all of them."

"I also hear that you saved two senior pages lives your first year by sewing up wounds."

Francesca felt herself and responded before she could stop the words. "You hear everything don't you."

"People talk," Keladry responded. "They talk even more when a page stiches up the wounds of two others, with more skill than many novice healers, and nothing to numb the pain. It's an impressive feat, even when you don't consider that those two pages would have died if you hadn't acted." Francesca felt her face become hotter.

"I did what anyone else would do," she protested.

"You'd be surprised how many people wouldn't though," she told the younger girl quietly. "You're parents are likely very proud of you."

Francesca tried to smile at the women. She couldn't understand how everyone she spoke to today seemed to bring up her parents. "Perhaps, my lady. Please excuse me, I must get back." Standing Francesca bowed, mounted Night and left.

Francesca stopped by the palace stables to give Snowstorm an apple, on a whim, and saw Alan and Lord Raoul tilting. Remembering the vision of tilting, Francesca shuddered. The smash of lance on shield looked painful; she did not envy Alan at all. Judging by the look of their mounts, they'd been at it for a while. Francesca leaned against the fence and watched, offering Night an apple that she'd kept in her pocket, biting into a second one herself. When they finished she walked over to Alan, he looked pounded.

"You look horrible," she told him cheerfully. He gave her a sour look. After a moment concern lightened his gaze and Francesca scowled. Had _everyone_ heard about the fall? "Don't," she warned him.

"Don't what," he demanded as they walked towards the stables.

"Don't ask if I'm alright. Would I be walking around if I wasn't?"

"Yes, because you're stubborn. I'm certain that if you hadn't broken your arm, then you wouldn't have even of considered going to the healers after you got pounded last year."

Francesca let the last go without comment; clearly Fianola had told him of her head wound induced confession. "Healers have to be approved by the training master," was all she said in response.

The look Alan gave her implied that she'd just made his point, she was about to make a sarcastic comment, when she noted worry in his face. "I something wrong," she prodded gently.

Alan hesitated, before telling her. "My sister, my twin, is missing. My mother and the king, even uncle Numair have tried scrying for her. They can't find her."

Francesca felt her eyes widen. "I'm so sorry," she hesitated for a second before her asked. "Do they think that she's…"

Alan shook his head firmly. "She's alive and safe, I know that much. We always know when the other is in trouble." He seemed to want to add something but didn't.

Guessing what he wanted to say, Francesca answered his unspoken question quietly. "If I knew anything, or…discover something, you'll be the first to know." The gratitude in his eyes warmed her heart. She left after that. As she rode back to the townhouse at a leisurely pace she thought about Alan.

If she could control her visions, she'd do what she could to help him find his sister. After all he'd been a good friend to her. Aisha would like him; of course she'd also tease Francesca for befriending the handsome squire. But why wouldn't she befriend him? He was kind, funny, handsome…

She was so shocked by the directions of her thoughts that she pulled Night to a halt. Of course when she'd first met Alan she'd noticed that he was handsome, but she had noticed it in passing. She'd never put stock in looks anyway. Joren of Stonemountain had been, without a doubt, the most handsome man she's ever seen, yet he was also a horrid person. Before meeting him, Francesca admitted to herself, she'd associated beauty with kindness. Now she knew better. So why was she thinking of Alan's looks as though they were important? As though she was some empty-headed lady who was after a husband, or at least a knight to flirt with?

The obvious answer smacked her in the face, leaving her appalled. She'd had crushes before, so she knew the signs of a budding crush.

_Well,_ she thought, disgusted with herself._ This won't do. Not at all, he's my friends for Shakith's sake. I'll just not let it get any farther. _With that decided she continued back to her home.

That evening, after dinner, but before the sun had set, Francesca visited the Temple District in Corus. She slipped into the temple and knelt in one of the front pews; head bowed and lowered the hood of her cloak. She sat there for a long time. Finally, after working up the courage, she did something that she'd once sworn never to do. She prayed to Shakith, goddess of seers, to give her a vision.

_Please, Shakith,_ she thought to the goddess. _I need to know more about what is to come. About the event that I must prevent. And I would like to help Alan's family. Please, share with me the knowledge I need._

"So mote it be," Francesca mumbled when she finished. Wetting her lips, she hurried from the temple. She was in such a rush, that she forgot to pull her hood back on, nor did she notice a man on the street, though he noted her.

The tall man wondered why a girl her age would be hurrying from the temple, and why she looked fearful that someone would see her. He followed her for two reasons. One was that she seemed genially fearful, and he was curious as to why. The other was that she was heading in the same direction he was. She never realized that he was behind her, and while he made no attempt to hide, nor did he try to catch her attention.

His thought that she looked of noble birth was confirmed as she turned a corner and he heard a voice call out.

"Lady Francesca," he turned the same corner and saw that the speaker was one of three women, dressed like servants, he didn't pay attention to the conversation as someone else had caught his attention.

"What are you doing here, Da?" Alan asked his father, clearly surprised. "I thought you were at home. Did you find Aly?"

George Cooper, Baron of Pirate's Swoop, shook his head at his younger son. "Nay, but I haven't stopped looking. I'll find her. What are you doing here?"

He son shrugged. "My lord told me that tomorrow I have free to do what I want, I was going to ask a friend if she wanted to spar with me."

When George raised his eyebrows and asked why he didn't just send a note, Alan flushed but didn't answer.

An animalistic snarl had George swinging towards the sound; he instinctively settled into a fighting stance, two of his hidden knives seemed to appear in his hands.

The sound came from a bobcat, and drew the attention of the four women. The one he'd followed from the temple strode forward, completely unafraid. George couldn't help but be impressed.

"Enough, Rain," the girl ordered, following the animal's gaze to him. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious, when she saw Alan; she raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. The three other women moved up behind her, one actually reached out to the creature.

She looked at George, "Why were you following her?" he couldn't figure out how she'd known until the bobcat hissed, drawing his attention.

Putting his knives away, he asked. "Is it going to attack?"

The lady scowled. "That depends," she answered calmly.

"On?"

"Why you were following me, and if you attack first." She paused and added. "Also who you are and how long you followed me." George found that this girl remained him a bit of Alanna.

"Francesca," Alan cut in, sounding exasperated. "This is my Da."

The girl nodded coolly. "Well, my lord Baron, your chances of being attacked have dropped. I tend to discourage attacks on my friends' parents." George couldn't help but laugh.

"I wasn't following you," he told her. "I was heading in this direction. You just happened to be ahead of me."

She seemed to weigh his response before nodding. "Then please forgive my rudeness." She nudged the bobcat, which had yet to stop growling. "Quiet you. Or I'll chop you into tiny pieces and feed you to the first stray I see." The bobcat gave George one final hiss, before leaping into the girls' arms.

"Are you a wild mage," he asked, curious.

"Not even remotely," she answered in a dry tone. He noted with interest that she seemed mildly uncomfortable now. "If you'll please excuse us, we've got to return home."

She made the exit so swiftly that George forgot to ask something he'd meant to. Alan shook his head ruefully.

"Sometimes, I forget that she went to the convent, and then she does something like that to remind me. Were you really following her, Da?"

"Sort of," he admitted. "Do you know why she may have visited Shakith's temple?"

He saw in his son's face that he did know, even before he answered. "No clue."

George, though intrigued, decided that there were more important things to focus on. Like finding his daughter.

That evening, Francesca's dreams were vivid and frighteningly real.

_She was on a boat. Pirates had kidnapped her._

_She was in a slave pen; she got into a fight, broke her nose and scared her face. No one would but her as pleasure slave now. She needed to get out, get home._

From where,_ part of her screamed. The knowledge hit her. The Copper Isles._

The dream changed.

_She was in the Great Hall, King Jonathan and Queen Thayet looked…regal, was the only word for it. Sir Raoul and Buri looked content, their attention mainly on the children that sat around them at their table. The wild mage held one, a young boy, while Numair held the girl, gently bouncing her on his knee._

_Roald and Shinkokami were talking with the ambassador from Scanran, while a representative from the Copper Isles listened. They were to act a mediators, which Francesca found ironic, since the peace with the Copper Isles was only a year or so old. _

_Looking around the hall she saw Lady Alanna, and Baron George talking with Lady Keladry. One of the sergeants from the King's Own watched the second Lady Knight, trying and failing – at least in Francesca's opinion – to be inconspicuous. She was more amused than she should be, she knew. She saw Fianola talking with Sir Nealan and his wife, Yukimi, while holding their child._

_Beside her Alan laughed at something Liam said, but she wasn't paying attention. One of the members of the Scanran party kept looking towards the wild mage and Master Numair. She was about to ask her friends if they noticed it – she didn't know why but something about it made her uneasy._

_Time suddenly seemed to slow, and the world seemed thrown into sharper focus, every detail, no matter how small, was suddenly clear. _

Watch_, Francesca would have shuddered, or cowered or even fled in fear if she could. But she was frozen in place. _Watch, so that you can stop it. _The horrible voice was loud in her mind, her bone vibrated with the force. Unable to fight it, Francesca watched as the slaughter took place. So quickly so _easily_ lives were ended. And by such a person...who would suspect it? How could she stop it?_

Francesca came awake choking on a sob. She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths. When she finally felt calmer she cataloged her dreams, which she remembered perfectly. A chill ran down her spine as she realized that _somehow_ she'd had a vision in her sleep. She knew were Alan's sister was.

She rubbed her arms and eased out of bed, and began to pace. Finally, she lit a candle and scrawled a quick note to Alan.

_In the Copper Isles._

She didn't add more. She wouldn't need to and didn't dare besides. Now, how to get it to him. She was hesitant to give it in person, she didn't know why, but some instinct told her not to. Her eyes fell on Rain, who was watching her through half closed eyes. _Oh, why not,_ she though wearily. _I've got nothing to lose._ She walked over to Rain the note folded in her hand.

"Rain, may I ask a favor?" She didn't feel as stupid as she thought she would. Though she knew that he'd just as likely ignore her. Rain flicked his short tail, as if telling her to continue. "Would you take this to Alan?" she placed the note in front of him, so that he could choose. "Please," she added for good measure.

The bobcat studied her for a moment. Suddenly he thrust his face against hers, rubbing for a moment. He turned just as suddenly and plucked the note up in his mouth and bounded out the window that she always kept open slightly for him.

Satisfied that she could do no more for tonight, Francesca blew out the candle and tried to go back to sleep.

Alan was woken suddenly, be something dropping onto his stomach. Something heavy. Instinctively he grabbed it, and found fur. The thing slipped off his stomach and prodded him with a paw. Stumbling to his feet he quickly lit a candle, and turn to find Rain cleaning himself on his bed.

Alan stared incredulously at the bobcat. As if realizing that he had Alan's attention, the bobcat nudged a piece of paper towards him. If he hadn't grown up around Daine, Alan would have found it eerie. As soon as the squire took the paper, Rain slipped through the window that Alan decided he would close before bed now, no matter how hot.

Opening the paper he found four words written in Francesca simple handwriting.

It took him a moment, but he understood the note. All thoughts of sleep were banished. He needed to figure out how to tell his Da where to look, without reviling Francesca's help.

A/N: In reply to a couple review… Sarafine-ecleips: I'm actually glad that SOMEONE else found that funny, when I wrote that I felt very clever. Also, on a slightly unrelated note, I WILL one day be able to type your name, WITHOUT looking at it on FF, correctly.

Moored Mermaid: First off, thanks for following/ favorite-ing the story! Secondly, I was tempted to make Francesca tell him, and she may still, but the reason she didn't is because she's scared that she won't be able to. She's spent most of her life knowing that things were going to happen, and being unable to stop it. She HATES feeling useless because of that. Due to that she doesn't want to tell anyone about what she saw. She doesn't want to make her friends – or even her worst enemies – feel helpless against things they can't control. Also, then all of you lovely readers would know what EXACTLY happens in the prophecy and who the killer is – and I'm not sure that I'm quite ready for that.


	14. Friends

A/N: So, yeah, I'm writing this not long after posting chapter 12. My plot gremlins and are going mad, and you guys get to reap the rewards.

Thanks: quickreader93, The Booknerds, Leopara and NinjaGirl012

Quickreader93: Thank you so much! I love your stories, so I'm really glad you like this one!

The Booknerds: Francesca is about 17; she'll be 18 in her fourth-year. I'll try and do better about being clear on the character's ages.

Leopara: Kyprioth couldn't block the other gods from finding Aly, if you remember. Mithros and the Goddess found her; he just blocked scrying, and Alanna and party's prayers. I'm not totally sure HOW it will play into the story, but I know it will.

Francesca avoided everyone but the servants that worked at her family's townhouse for the rest of the summer. Several times Alan and Fianola attempted to come and see her – she didn't know what Milli or Ava told them, and she didn't particularly care. When it came time to move back into the page's hall, she fully expected one or both of them to confront her. She was right.

The knock on her door seemed to be just a formality, as two seconds afterwards Fianola opened the door, she and Alan stalked in and stared at her. Francesca, sitting on her bed, blinked at them. She idly wondered what would have happened if she'd been changing clothes. The thought was embarrassing enough to her, that she didn't ask the question; instead she said to her friends.

"Typically, it is custom for the inhabitance of the room to open the door," She told them dryly. "I'm not quite sure how or why that is custom," she shrugged, "but there it is."

"Yes, well," Fianola shot back. "If you hadn't been avoiding us all summer, mayhap we wouldn't _have_ to barge into your room."

"I wasn't avoiding you," she argued, Alan snorted, and Francesca amended the statement. "I was avoiding everyone."

"Why," he demanded, Francesca refused to meet either of their eyes, focusing once more on unpacking. She knew that she drew attention to the issue by not answering, but she didn't have an answer, at least not one she was will to give.

"Do you realize, that when you _don't _answer," Fianola commented in an overly calm voice. "It just makes people want an answer even more." Francesca sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Look," she said facing them. "I realize that it may seem odd to you, but there are some things in my life that I don't share with anyone. Even if there was someone present and they wanted to talk about it. More than that, I had a lot of thinking to do. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do, but I'll have to figure it out soon," Francesca moved to her door. "Now, if you'll please excuse me, there's something I need to take care of." Both squires exited her room, but they didn't walk away. Francesca knew a pointless battle when she saw one, so ignoring them she went to Liam's room. Her year-mate answered the door, raising his eyebrows at the three of them.

"They're following me," Francesca told him. "I think because I didn't answer some question."

Liam just nodded, and stepped aside and let the three of them in.

"You didn't see who pushed me off the cliff, did you?" Francesca did not beat around the bush.

"No," Liam seemed frustrated by that fact. "But I know that it wasn't Marrek."

"I know that too," she assured him. "Liam, you're my friend, aren't you?"

He seemed surprised by the question; "Yes, of course. Why?"

"Don't try to find out who pushed me," Francesca began. She didn't get farther, because her friend's outrage overpowered her words. They were all talking over each other so she could not make out who said what, though she did hear the phrase 'Could have been killed!' many times. When they quieted enough, she glared at them.

"First off," Francesca told them testily. "Fianola, you and Alan are squires. You have no business getting into fights with pages. For any reason," both looked like they wanted to argue. "Second, Liam, this is not your problem. I appreciate the fact that you _want _to help me, but this is _my_ problem. Not yours, or Traver's, or yours," once more she glared at her squire friends. "Let me deal with the problems in my life, if I need help, don't you think I'd ask?"

All of her friends were silent for a long time, before Alan spoke up. "No, you wouldn't. The only reason you came to us when you got pounded last year was because you didn't know where the infirmary was." Francesca blinked in shock. "Be honest, if you hadn't needed to see the healers, would you have just let us find out the next morning, when we saw you at breakfast?" Francesca instantly wanted to deny that she'd do that, but she didn't. Thinking about it, she realized that they were right, and this wasn't the first time it had been pointed out to her.

"Your right," she told them quietly. "I wouldn't ask for help. But my point stands, I don't want any of you to get involved in this." She cut them off when they started to protest again. "No, listen. If someone was willing to push me off a cliff, they must have realized that I could have died. If they would go to those lengths, why wouldn't they attack you?" She left them with that thought.

Later, when she stood with Liam, Traver, the other senior pages, and the training master, as they all inspected the new pages; Francesca felt a cold sweat breakout over her body. One of the new pages was a cousin on her mother's side. She couldn't remember if this cousin knew she was a seer, and vowed that if one of her friends didn't take him as a sponsor, she would.

When Lofren offered, Francesca cut in. "May I, my lord? Ersken and I are cousins," silently she prayed until the training mast agreed. Her cousin – Ersken of Arenaver – stared at her, in complete confusion. The other pages and the training master strode down the hall. Francesca and her cousin regarded each other wearily.

"Aunt told Mother you were dead," her younger cousin told her. Francesca snorted at that.

"No, just doing something she doesn't approve of," she began to walk down the hall, motioning for her cousin to keep up.

"I don't understand," Ersken told her shaking his head.

"My mother and I do not get on," Francesca told him.

"Not that," he said shaking his head again. "Mother said that you got the Sight, since it skipped your mother_ and_ brother. She said that you were a seer, but how can you be, if you're in page training."

"Not so loudly," Francesca hissed at him. She stopped outside the mess hall and faced her cousin. "Listen, you can't mention that around here. Okay," he looked like he wanted to question her, but she opened the doors and strode in. Ersken followed closely behind. When they took their seats, to Francesca's dismay, Ersken picked up the topic again.

"Why can't I mention that –" he paused at her glare and amended his statement. "What Mother said?"

"Because," Francesca told him, somewhat stiffly. "While your mother spoke the truth, I don't care. And if you bring up the issue, I _will _ensure you regret it," she glared at him until he gulped and looked away. When Liam and Traver glanced at her, Francesca shook her head and muttered, "Later."

During dinner, Liam and Traver talked to Ersken, making him feel welcome, since Francesca dropped the ball on that. One of the first things they asked was how he and Francesca were related.

"My father and Francesca's mother are sibling." He told them easily, "Are mothers' have been friends for years as well. Since the convent."

"Do women really stay friends after leaving the convent?" Traver asked sounding shocked.

"Why wouldn't they," Francesca replied. "I can easily see remaining friends with a few women that I befriended there."

"Yeah," Traver scoffed. "But you -" Liam shoved his elbow into Traver's ribs and the other boy stopped talking.

"I, what," Francesca demanded, eyes narrowed. Traver shifted uneasily, clearly realizing that whatever he'd been about to say, might insult her.

"You," he hesitated, and then continued. "You're not exactly like normal girls, are you?" It sounded more like a question than a statement. Francesca just stared at him, shocked.

He _clearly_ didn't realize that many of the friends at the convent only went because their families made them. It was a noble daughter's duty to please and act in a way that retained the honor of her family. In that way, Francesca realized, no, she was not like many other girls. She didn't care much what her family thought. She was not now, nor would she ever be, the person her family wanted her to be.

Her father had wanted another boy, her mother a seer daughter that 'understood her duty to her family and the realm'; if you asked Francesca, she was doing her duty to her family and the realm. Her mother did not agree. Shrugging, Francesca simply told her friends:

"Perhaps you're right," and continued her meal. Afterwards, she, Liam and Traver showed Ersken around. When they were in the portrait gallery, Francesca, after making sure they were alone, turned to her cousin.

"Why did you enter page training," she demanded, clearly shocking all three boys. "Your older brother is already a squire, so why? You need not do so to maintain family honor," if they noticed the mocking tone she used on the last two words, Ersken ignored it.

"Because, it's the best way I can think to serve the realm, and do my duty to my family." Francesca smiled slightly, though she was much older, she had always had a soft spot for her younger cousin. They thought alike.

"Good," she told him, arms crossed over her chest. "Then you understand why I did so as well, despite being a seer. Are you going to tell someone," she challenged, Ersken met her eyes without flinching.

"It's your business," he told her calmly. "Besides, Father says arguing with seers about choices and the future is useless, and will give you a headache." Francesca chuckled a bit. Her uncle was one of her favorite relatives, though she rarely got to see him.

"How is Uncle," she asked lightly as they continued the tour of the palace. The rest of the time was filled with stories from her cousin, and the three older pages pointing out places of importance.

As November approached, nobles began to drift into the palace, Francesca didn't really care, she focused on her plan for the four pages that'd caused her accident. One Sunday, she was exercising in her room, and fine tuning her plan when someone knocked on her door. Opening it, she was Ersken and Traver; she let them in and decided that she could take a rest.

"What were you doing," Ersken asked.

Francesca quickly explained her exercise routine. Rain chose that moment to wake from his nap on her bed. Francesca moved over to the bed and sat. Only to jump back up immediately, she's felt something small and squishy under the covers. Pulling them back, Francesca grimaced. Rain had left her a dead rabbit as a treat.

"As much as I appreciate the gift," she told the bobcat. "Stop leaving dead animals in my bed!"

Grimacing she picked it up by the ears. A glance at her guests reviled that they were trying to decide between finding it hilarious and being horrified. She, sadly, was used to it. She'd given up screeching in shock after the fifth dead animal in her bed. Leaning out the open shudders, Francesca tossed the creature away. She considered talking to the wild mage; maybe _she_ could get Rain to stop 'gifting' her dead animals.

Rain, giving her a baleful look, leapt from the window and trotted to where the dead rabbit now lay. Turning her back to the window, Francesca observed her friend and cousin trying to stay in their seats, while laughing hard enough to leave them gasping.

"Does he do," Traver gasp, "that often?"

"Often enough that it's annoying," she shrugged, as their laughter was renewed.

"Well, well," a familiar voice drawled, and Francesca had to fight back a grin. Turning to the window, she saw the speaker; a well-dressed lady in a stunning mint green gown. A bit away from her stood a knight, they looked enough alike to be family. "They'll let all types into the palace now, won't they?" she sneered prettily at Francesca, who'd moved until she could see the outside courtyard perfectly.

"I suppose they will," she countered. "After all, _you're _here, aren't you?"

"You always did think you were clever," the lady sniffed.

"Cleverer than you, at any rate." Francesca shrugged. "Not, that that's saying much."

The woman's mouth twitched slightly. "Don't you know? Ladies don't have to have brain, so long as they have looks." She gave Francesca an arched look. "No wonder you chose this path."

It was a fight now, for both of them to not grin. Even more so, because Francesca's friends, and the knight began to stir, clearly thinking that they should step in. "You're right, I am much more suited to knight's training. I enjoy using my brain. Though I must commend your teachers! To have so many thoughtless women to deal with and they still teach every one of them to talk and converse! And you, a prime example!"

"Now see here," the knight snapped, moving forward. Francesca and the woman burst out laughing.

"Draw," the woman asked, still laughing.

"Draw," she agreed, vaulting through the window to greet her friend. "It's good to see you Aisha!"

The two women embraced; stepping back they held each other at arm's length to study the other.

"You look beautiful, as always," Francesca told her oldest friend.

"As do you," Aisha complemented. "Page training seems to agree with you." Her voice and expression were wistful.

"As convent training agrees with you," she replied slyly. Aisha glared and made a rude gesture at her. Francesca laughed, and belatedly both women realized that a knight and two pages were staring at them in shock.

"Brother," Aisha smiled prettily at him, and dragged Francesca closer. "May I present my dear friend, Francesca of Nond. Francesca this is my brother, Sir Faleron of King's Reach."

"It is an honor, sir knight," Francesca felt cautious. Aisha was forever trying to match-make her friends – she'd always threatened to try and get her brother to fall for Francesca, so that they would be sisters. With most people, Francesca would know that it was a joke, with Aisha, you just weren't sure.

"It is an honor, Lady Francesca," the knight said with a small bow.

"No lady, sir knight," Francesca corrected. "I am merely a page." Turning back to Aisha she added. "May I introduce my friends," she motioned for them to join them in the courtyard. "Lady Aisha, this is Traver of Mindelan and Ersken of Arenaver, my cousin. Both are in page training with me." Rain, unnoticed until that point leapt at Francesca's chest – his version of jumping into her arms.

"This handsome beast must be Rain," Aisha said, smothering a giggle.

"Or the bane of my existence," Francesca replied flippantly. "No wait, that's something else. So yeah, it must be Rain." The bobcat glared at her, and sat up to lick her cheek from chin to the corner of her eye. Settling back he looked smug; his tongue was rough like sandpaper and hurt. They all stood in the courtyard for a while, Francesca and Aisha doing most of the talking. Finally when Faleron hinted about going, Aisha told him to go, and Francesca could see her back to her rooms. He agreed after a moment's though, Francesca bid her cousin and friend goodbye, as they too left. She jumped back into her room, to close and lock the door, before she and Aisha began to walk back towards the part of the palace that hosted the nobility.

"I don't understand why you don't cut your hair," Aisha told her.

"If you want your hair short, then you cut it," she retorted.

"'True ladies,'" Aisha began, in a nasally voice. "'Do _not_ have short hair!'"

Francesca laughed, "Of course, how could I forget."

"It just seems like it would be simpler," Aisha continued.

"It probably would," Francesca admitted.

"Then," she began, and then stopped to glare at Francesca. "Francesca of Nond," she said sternly. "Are you only keeping your hair long in an attempt to please your mother?"

Francesca didn't answer.

"Goddess bless! Franny, you _know_ that that woman is cold and bitter! _Why_ do you do that?" Aisha demanded, hands on her hips as she glared at her friend. Despite the glare, there was concern in her eyes.

"Drop it, please, Aisha," Francesca sighed. "It's my business, not yours." Though she didn't seem happy about it, Aisha conceded the point. Both women were quiet for a while, and then Francesca began to share with Aisha some of the things' she'd left out in their letters. Aisha knew about her first prophecy, and finding out that Francesca had had a second one, concerned her. She'd always heard that only the most powerful seers had prophecies, and she knew how much Francesca feared and resented her visions. However, that was not the most shocking thing that Francesca shared.

"Over the summer," Francesca told her, in a very subdued voice. "I visited Shakith's temple…I prayed for…" Though Francesca didn't finish the though, Aisha stared at her in amazement. Francesca has sworn she would _never_ ask the goddess for a vision. And yet, she had admitted to going just that!

Aisha knew that there _must_ be a reason, and a good one. She just had no clue what it was. When they parted ways not long after that, Aisha was still trying to reason out what made Francesca pray for a vision – or who.

The next day, Francesca felt tired, but she was determined to not let it affect her work in the practice yards. She was easily the best in hand-to-hand combat. Her staff and sword work, while not the best, was easily past the level expected of a third-year page. In archery, she hit her mark every time – archery was one of the few physical activities that was 'acceptable' for noble ladies, and even that was new. She had best seat of all the pages in riding, and while she was passible at tilting, using weapons from horseback seemed more natural to her.

Riding class had just ended when all of the pages seemed to realize that they had attracted a different audience than their usual one. A beautiful lady in scarlet silk, rested against the fence. To Francesca's amusement, the majority of the boys seemed frozen in awe of Aisha's beauty. Her friend's pale skin and dark hair and eyes glowed with health; the red dress brought roses to her cheeks and made her lips look a soft pink.

Francesca knew that her friend wore no make-up at the moment, she was just naturally beautiful. She amused herself by wondering how many of the squires would spend their free time flirting with Aisha. As she neared the fence Aisha moved closer, inspecting Snowstorm.

"She's nearly as glorious as Night," her friend said in an approving way. Aisha had been extremely envious of the horse.

"I thought so," Francesca peered down at her friend from Snowstorm's back. "Did you came out here just to tell me that?"

"No, I just saw Fredrick and his wife; I wanted to warn you they were here, so you didn't get surprised." Francesca grimaced and thanked her friend. She led Snowstorm back to her stall and brooded while she groomed the horse.

Francesca did not get along with Fredrick, her second brother, though she liked his wife Adalia well enough. Fredrick took after their mother's thinking, and had attempted to shame her into remaining in the convent. Fredrick was her mother's favorite, just as Aiden was their father's. She and Fredrick rarely saw each other, when they did they, usually, managed to be civil, and they never wrote each other. Knowing that, she still wasn't thrilled to know that at one point or another she'd likely run into him.

A/N: So, I'm back and have a sprained ankle, not fun. Any who, just to let y'all know I have realized that I made a small boo-boo, which I'm going back to fix. If any of y'all have heard of the site , then you know that he just finished reviewing chapter 6 of page, if you HAVEN'T heard of the site, go check it out! He's reviewing the Tortall books, and is on PotS right now! But I digress, anyway I remember now that it says that the Nond's have AT LEAST 2 sons, so again I'm gonna fix that.


	15. Vanishing Years

A/N: So I realized that I haven't done this at all, and probably should, at least once:

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All of the characters belong to Tamora Pierce! Not me, if they did belong to me, I probably wouldn't be on FFN, now would I?**

Thanks to: RandomPerson3.14 (Even though that review was for chapter 11, also hehehe pi! Yes, I'm a math person) andNinjaGirl012.

Francesca, thankfully, did not encounter her brother until the Sunday before the Mid-Winter holiday. She was just returning from the stables when she ran into her brother, quite literally, as she turned a corner. It was clear that neither had expected to see the other, and stood for quite some time in awkward silence, looking at each other. It was Adalia, Fredrick's wife, who broke the silence. She expressed pleasure at seeing Francesca, surprise at seeing her at the palace and her clothes, Francesca wore breeches and a tunic.

Francesca greeted Adalia with equal warmth, and explained why she was there. "I was just coming from the stables," she told them. "I wanted to check on Snowstorm, my horse; riding has been suspended for the past few weeks." At Adalia's confused look, Francesca suppressed a sigh; of course Fredrick hadn't said anything. "I'm in page training, you see," she chatted on, benignly. She saw the shock on Adalia's face. Disappointment swamped her then, she didn't know why she always let things like her family acting the way she expected disappoint her. _Perhaps_, Francesca mused to herself. _It is just a hidden hope that my family will change. If so, then I need to get over it._ She quickly made an excuse, and fled, feeling depressed.

Later that evening, she was reading in her room, as night fell, the bottom shutters were open, and Rain, in a show of affection, or ownership – she was never sure which – lay in her lap, dozing. She thought of writing to Alan or Fianola, both of whom had been out in the field since the week after the pages training resumed, but she couldn't think of anything to say to either at the moment. Several weeks ago, they had written that their respective knight-master would be returning to the palace for Mid-Winter – Sir Raoul because the king ordered him and Sir Nealan because he wanted to be near his father, when his wife gave birth to their first child. As the light began to fail, Francesca considered getting up to light an extra lamp, when Rain rocketed out of her lap without warning.

His action surprised her enough, that Francesca stood slowly and lit a new lamp, cautiously watching the window the entire time. Peering out, she saw Rain watching something around the corner of the pathway that leads into the courtyard. She debated going to see what Rain was staring at so intently, when her question was answered in the form of two men turning the corner. Francesca relaxed very slightly; one of the men was Alan, she had no clue whom the other was. He was clearly older than Alan, and they seemed to know each other fairly well. She guessed they were related. Glancing back to where Rain hid in the shadows, she realized that he was watching the long sleeve of the second man's mage's robe, readying himself to pounce.

_You've got to be kidding,_ she thought with disgust. If she didn't know better she'd say that Rain was just a large house cat. With a sigh she leaned out the window and fixed the bobcat with her fiercest glare. "Don't you dare," she told him sternly. "You are _not_ a house cat to attack string and such when every you see it!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the surprised expression on Alan and his companions' face. When Alan realized who she was talking to he laughed, and moved to pick up the bobcat, who was now acting very innocent. Francesca shook her head in disgust, and turned to study the other man more closely. He was taller than Alan, and instead of reddish-blonde hair, the man's hair was as bright red as Alan's famous mothers'. In the growing shadows, it was hard to tell the man's eye color.

"I believe this is yours," Alan told her chuckling, holding up Rain by the scruff. The bobcat let out a pitiful sound, trying to get sympathy. "Nice try," Alan told him with a snort. "Stop pretending."

"Let that poor creature go!" A very authoritative voice ordered. Recognizing it, Francesca put her face in her hands. Looking up, the scene was what she expected. Aisha was scolding Alan for his 'mistreatment' of 'an innocent creature'. It was all Francesca could to not to laugh. Alan was clearly shocked and unsure of what to do or say. Not that Aisha gave anyone a chance to say anything. Sighing, she swung out the window.

"Aisha, enough," she cut in as the other woman took a breath. "I _know_ you did not call this miserable sack of fur 'innocent'," Francesca said as she took Rain from Alan, who looked comically relieved for the help. "You see, this is why I didn't want to introduce you to my friends here," she teased her oldest friend. "You terrify even a squire who serves with the King's Own as the Knight Commander's squire."

When Aisha realized what she'd said, she blushed. She performed a very pretty curtsy and made an even prettier apology. Shaking her head, Francesca made introductions.

"Aisha of King's Reach, may I present, my friend, Alan of Pirate's Swoop. Alan this is Lady Aisha, she is the friend I told you about a few times. Francesca ignored Alan's response, studying the taller red-haired man, there was something about him that tugged on the back of her mind, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe she was just weary because he was a mage of undetermined power.

She tuned in enough to hear Alan introduce the other man as his older brother, Thom. Francesca felt herself stiffen. She remembered Alan telling the group about his brother, who was a mage strong enough that he might one day be Master Numair's equal. And she was now standing not ten feet from this mage.

She'd thought that she had hidden how uncomfortable she was, but clearly Aisha had seen it, as her friend proceeded to ensure that there was no chance that the attention of the two men would wavier from her. Aisha had always had a gift of being the center of attention; it had never bothered Francesca, because it meant that when she was with her friend, she could fade into the background. Taking the offered chance, Francesca slipped away and back into her room, she hesitated before shutting her large shutters, not wanting to leave Aisha alone, even if she knew that she'd be fine. Her dilemma was solved when Rain left her to sit at Aisha's feet, feeling less guilty; Francesca closed the large shutters and decided to do a few exercises for her arms.

While Aisha talked – and flirted – with the two men Francesca had stopped her from scolding – the Lioness's sons! – She watched Francesca slip away out of the corner of her eye, not surprised in the least. Francesca had always been cautious around mages, she had even let many of the snottier lady's at the convent believe that she had a fear of magic. It both amazed and intrigued her when Squire Alan causally mentioned Francesca's shyness, when his brother finally noted her disappearance. What shocked her more is when he winked at her and said; "Francesca left the second you started to draw all the attention. Did you two do that a lot?"

It startled her enough, that she laughed and told him honestly. "Of course, when Francesca and I first met she was such a wallflower. It's been my goal ever since to get her to blossom into a social butterfly."

"She may have regressed since coming to page training," he responded with a laugh.

When she returned to her room later, Aisha was still pondering the fact that Alan had noticed Francesca's exit. Part of her wanted to be insulted – she wasn't used to not having someone's full attention when that is what she sought. A slightly bigger part, wondered if Francesca might have someone interested in her, or just a good friend.

Deciding that the only way to know for sure was to watch both very closely – and interrogate Francesca later – Aisha went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning Francesca went through her usual routine, she went for a run, and did some weapons practice. At breakfast she chatted with her friends, as she was leaving the mess hall, so was Alan.

"Hey, will you do me a favor?" She asked.

"What," he asked, sounding amused.

"I'm going to be waiting on court ladies, tonight," she told him, making a face. When he started to ask how she knew, Francesca just gave him a look. "Anyway, since you don't have to serve tonight, can you talk to them, so that they won't pay attention to me?"

Alan teased her about being afraid of court ladies, but agreed in the end.

Later that evening, Francesca watched from a corner, as a handsome squire flirted with a group of court ladies, they paid her – a lowly page – no mind as she served them food, and slipped away. She was about to return with the next course, when the squire who had been flirting with the ladies stopped her.

"Why again did you seem so panicked when you asked me to distract them?" Alan asked, looking wickedly amused.

"Because, I know many of those ladies," she drawled, eye the table of women in question, not bothering to contradict the claim that she'd been panicked, though she hadn't been. "Plus, this was I have introduce Aisha to some of my friends at the palace, and she won't fuss at me about it."

Alan just laughed, "Lord Raoul is having a small party tomorrow evening," he told her. "Come to it and I'll introduce you to the Lady Knight, she's going to be there."

"Which lady knight," she asked him.

"Both."

"Well," she responded breezily, "since you begged me so pitifully to come, how can I say no?" Alan snorted and left.

The next afternoon, Francesca was passing the time with her page friends, when Aisha, after much searching, found Francesca. She dragged her friend a little ways away before excitedly telling her about small a party that she insisted the both of them go to.

As Aisha described the party, Francesca was highly amused. When Aisha finished, Francesca stared at her, amused. "Ironically enough, I was already invited to that party," she told her friend.

"What! How, by whom?" Aisha demanded in delight.

"Alan, Lord Raoul's squire, invited me," Francesca told her. "He was that squire you were flirting with over dinner last night."

"Hmmm," was all Aisha said a speculative look in her eyes. "Do you have a dress?" Aisha demanded.

"Why would that matter?" Francesca snorted.

"Well, I certainly don't plan to be the only woman there in a dress," Aisha told her in a logical voice. "If you wear a dress, then I _know_ that I won't be. So, do you have a dress?"

Francesca explained to her friend that there was no way that she would wear a dress to the party. The two argued about it for the rest of the afternoon, until it was time for Francesca and the other pages to report to Master Oakbridge. Francesca was certain of one thing; there was no way that she was wearing a dress tonight.

So, naturally, later that night, Francesca found herself wearing the dress she'd ordered from Lalasa's dress shop the summer of her first-year. She was a bit disgruntled that Aisha had talked her into the dress, and still confused as to _how exactly_ that had happened.

Francesca felt awkward as she stood in a corner watching knight, squires, members of the King's Own and the Queen's Riders. She moved towards the window, staring out of it, she wondered if she should just leave. The vision crept up on her.

_She watched the couple as they walked through the garden; they laughed and joked quietly, clearly enjoying the time they're spending together. In the darkness, and with the distance, it would have been hard, almost impossible to identify the pair, if one did not already know. That fact, coupled with the knowledge that few to no one knew, or expected that the two were courting, amused Francesca to no end._

_Lady Knight Keladry, and the Sergeant, Francesca reflected to herself, made a good match._

As she blinked, and her senses returned and she discovered that she was no longer alone. A handsome, blue-eyed man, wearing the uniform of the King's Own smiled charmingly at her. Wearily, Francesca chatted with him, it was getting late, and the bell signaling lights out for pages would ring soon, and she didn't know how to escape the party.

Maybe, Francesca thought, equal parts bitter and annoyance. Maybe, I should have paid more attention to the proper social interaction lessons.

She let her gaze wonder the room, and as she glanced back to her companion, she realized that he was looking at someone else. Not in the least bit offended, but feeling highly amused, Francesca asked him.

"Sergeant Domitan, may I ask, why are you talking to me, when it is clear that you'd prefer to be talking to the lady knight?" Francesca motioned slightly to where Lady Keladry could be seen across the room, talking with several knight.

The sergeant blinked in shock, a flushed slightly. Before he could reply, Francesca managed to escape to the hall, and set off for her room. She was exhausted.

* * *

The rest of the year passed in a blur. The only thing of interest that happened during the training camp that year, was when one boys spooked some of the horses and ended up with bruises, they had been lucky enough to escape broken bones. Then some time later, the same four boys ended up stumbling upon a fallen bee hive; the most peculiar incident, was when the boy's - Oswel of Irenroha – had all of his gear; tents, bed rolls, change of clothes, and the like, soiled. Later, Francesca overheard the Shang Wildcat, and Shang Horse wondering how and why the bobcat dung and piss ended up all over the page's stuff.

When the pages returned to the palace, over the next week, three of the new squires - Gian of Genlith, Hamrath of Runnerspring, and Lofren of Meron – all stumbled upon an irate bobcat, and spooked horses.

Near the end of the summer, Alan, at a time when the Own wasn't in the field, came to see Francesca. He found her practicing her sword work from horse back with Liam. When the two took a break, Alan mentioned the three squires and a single page, that all seemed to annoy a bobcat. He finished the comment with a pointed look at Rain, who was sleeping in a patch of shadows. Francesca said nothing, knowing that whether she denied involvement – her's and Rain's – she wouldn't be believed.

It wasn't until training started up the next year, that it truly occurred to Francesca: the day before training resumed, she'd turning eighteen, she was now a fourth-year page.

It was several months into training when Francesca had the first sign that her prophecy was closing in on her. As she was running an errand for a noble who'd seen her uniform, and clearly assumed that she'd have nothing better to do, she stumbled upon the wild mage, Daine and her husband, the mage Numair Salmalin. What drew her eye, was the infant that Daine was holding, both gazed at the child with the look of proud parents, normally Francesca would have fled at that point, but she also saw the person she'd been sent to deliver a message to.

She trembled slightly as she approached the group, thankfully, Daine saw her coming and greeted her warmly, if a bit tiredly. Sir Gareth the Younger, nodded to her, and she quickly delivered the message. With a sigh the Prime Minister left, muttering under his breath. As she was about to leave, Francesca shot one last look towards the child, and nearly choked – the small baby girl that currently slept peacefully. Though the child was much smaller, and quite a bit younger, this was one of the children she'd seen in her prophecy – the one the mage had bounced on his knee.

Not caring if either of the two adult standing there thought it strange, Francesca ran. She slowed when she was mildly convinced that she could relax. After that, Francesca threw herself into her training more than usual. Her final year as a page, seem to both be endless, and over in the blink of an eye.


	16. Becoming a Squire

A/N: So as I write this I realize something that most of you have probably figured out; this story is close to wrapping up. I'm thinking a maximum of five chapters more. But then again, that can always change, so yeah. Thanks to all my reviewers, favorite-teirs (yes, I do make up words) and followers. I love you guys!

Thanks to: Ann, The Booknerds, Moored Mermaid (even though the review was for the first chapter) ZabuzasGirl, and BamaRose19.

The day of the big exams, Francesca woke nervous. Part of her knew that the chances of failing where slim. Francesca knew the material that she needed to pass; she had easily passed the previous three exams, as well. However, there was something about knowing that if she passed _this _year's exam, she would be a squire, which made part of her doubt her ability to pass.

If, even minutes after the exam ended, someone had asked Francesca specifics about the exam, she wasn't sure if she could have answered.

Francesca smiled at her friends as they came to congratulate her on passing the big exams. Someone cleared their throat behind her, turning she found herself face-to-face with her parents. She hadn't known that they had even come. Her father was a tall, pale pock-marked man, his face was stern. Her mother was a small-ish woman; she had once been a beauty, but no longer, perhaps due to an almost constant displeased expression on her face.

"Mother, Father," Francesca greeted them with the shock she felt, but did not move to embrace them. They made no move towards her either.

"Well," her mother said, cold blue-green eyes that looked the same as Francesca's own surveyed her, and those around her. "At least you haven't done something foolish, like broken your nose or scared your face. We might be able to save your reputation, and find you a suitable match. Though of course you'll have to stay away from such poor influences." She glared towards Fianola and both lady knights. Francesca gritted her teeth; her mother was saying this knowing full well that she could be heard clearly, as the room began to quiet.

"Mother, please," Francesca felt herself flush slightly in anger.

"Even if we cannot make a match," her mother continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Then you can easily be sent into the service of a god. They rarely turn down even disgraced women from that. We may very well have to go that route. Are you satisfied now that you've made your point," her mother demanded. "Now stop acting like a spoiled child. I refuse to let my only daughter ruin the reputation of her family the way some thoughtless, selfish women do." She gave a pointed sniff, in the direction of the two lady knights. "I raised you to be a proper lady, not some two copper whore."

"Enough," Francesca told her, tone as chilled as her mother's. "You are speaking of my friends and their relatives. More than that, you are speaking ill of knights of the realm, who've done their duty to keep you and others safe when the Scanran's attacked. If you cannot be civil, then please be silent."

The slap came so suddenly that Francesca didn't have time to stop it. One cheek began to glow hot, and she stared at her mother. The room went silent. She wanted to be shocked, but Francesca just felt resigned.

"How _dare_ you speak to me that way," she snarled, eyes narrowed to slits. "I have never been so insulted in my life, and by my own daughter."

"I cannot in good conscience allow you to speak ill of my friends and their family, without speaking up. If you are insulted by that then so be it." Francesca was glad her voice was even, and for once, she didn't care if the entire palace was watching.

"You are no daughter of mine," her mother hissed. Turning on her heel, Lady Florzile of Nond strode from the room. Francesca looked at her father; he'd remained silent through the exchange. He stood, looking between his wife and daughter. He met Francesca's gaze for a moment only, before turning without a word to follow his wife.

Francesca swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat, before she squared her shoulders and turned to face her friends who all watched her with varying levels of pity. Francesca lifted her chin, silently refusing to let anyone pity her.

Aisha walked up to her, and pretended the entire scene hadn't happened. Francesca silently thanked her old friend. Slowly the others followed her lead.

At dinner that night, Francesca could hear the whispers and felt the eyes on her, she knew that everyone was discussing the scene with her mother. When she got back to her room that evening, she found several pieces of paper on her desk, she leafed through them; Francesca found it was the bill of sale for Snowstorm, made out to her. A grim smile touched her lips. This was her father's version of an apology.

* * *

She had been a squire for a few weeks, before she was approached by a knight. When the knight finished the offer, Francesca could only stare open mouthed in shock. It was Rain who helped her find her voice – by biting her hand. When she realized how long she'd been silent, Francesca's words stumbled over themself to accept the offer.

"Ofcourse, I'mhonored, I-I-I- Thank you, my lady," Francesca stuttered, staring at Lady Keladry with wide eyes. The next few hours Francesca's head was still spinning. The week after she'd become a squire, Francesca had brought Night to the palace and stabled her there with Snowstorm.

Francesca sat in her new room, attached to her new knight-mistress's courters, thinking.

She knew that it was probably wrong to continue to keep her visions a secret, the chances of her having visions that would either revel part of Lady Keladry's life that wasn't truly her business was very great, at the same time she might have a vision that the knowledge she gained would be important to the knight. She knew that she had to tell her…didn't she?

Francesca ignored the fact that Rain was lying on her bed, watching her pace, as she thought furiously. She couldn't ask any of her friends what to do. None of them were in the palace, and Francesca figured that if she was going to tell the lady knight her secret, the sooner, the better. Francesca didn't notice when the ugly dong, Jump, stuck his head through the connecting door way, she wasn't sure how long he too watched her pace, before he woofed quietly, drawing her attention. Looking at the door, Francesca found herself blushing with embarrassment, Lady Keladry stood in the door way, she looked slightly amused.

"Is something wrong," the knight asked kindly. "Jump says you've been pacing for a while."

"Do you have wild magic, my lady," Francesca asked, surprised. Kel shook her head and explained how Daine had made the dog and sparrows more intelligent. Francesca, looking over at Rain, simply told her knight-mistress, that she wouldn't be sure if that was a good thing or not, had she been in the knight's shoes. The woman chuckled, and asked again, if something was bothering Francesca.

"Well," Francesca began hesitantly. "I – I'm not sure how to tell y- a friend, something." Francesca told her, as she began to pace again. "I know that I probably _should_ tell her, but," Francesca shook her head. "I'm not sure if it's the best thing." She grimaced and sat down heavily next to Rain. "And right now, I'm probably not making much since. Please forget it my lady," Francesca gave the knight, a tight smile.

"The Yamani's have a saying;" the knight told her. "'You need not unsay, anything you did not say in the first place.' Does that help at all?"

"I wish I could say yes, lady knight; but now I'm wondering if I _should _have told yo - her, in the first place." It looked like the knight was about to respond, when Rain decided to put his two copper sum into the mix.

The bobcat moved to sit on her lap, and put his front paws on her shoulder. Glaring at her, Rain put his face very close to Francesca's and hissed, before she turned and left the room, without bothering to swipe that the sparrows that flew lazily between the rooms.

"Well," Francesca said, rubbing one shoulder where Rain had dug in his claws. "Either he was upset about something, or he is telling be to say what I have to say."

"I've always found," her knight mistress added cheerfully. "That any animal can make itself understood, even without the assistance of a wild mage, when they truly want to."

As the knight turned to leave, Francesca bit her lip and stood.

"Lady Keladry, there is something you should probably know." The knight looked at her expectantly. "I – I'm a seer," the knight's face showed no surprise, but after all she'd heard of her, Francesca expected that. "I think that, if I'm to be your squire, you should know that."

Francesca stood, waiting nervously for the knight's response.

"Well," Kel sighed and scratched her head. "That explains what Irnai said before I left New Hope," she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Francesca.

"Who," Francesca asked, a bit hesitant, "Is Irnai?"

"A young seer child who lives in the former refugee camp turned town, Sirs Merric, Nealan and I were charged with building and guarding during the war. She told me that I would another seer, I guess that would be you."

Francesca felt a little better, she hated lying to people. Aisha accused her of using her shyness to push people away, so that she didn't have to feel like she was lying to them. Francesca would never admit it to anyone, but Aisha wasn't completely wrong.

Later that evening, Francesca was eating in the now mostly deserted mess hall, when a vision hit her.

_The day of the tournament was sunny and beautiful. She watched as the two knights rode their horses to opposite ends of the tilting lane. All around her, people whispered. This was a match that many wanted to see – the conservatives because they wanted to see 'the upstart Mindelan bitch' put in her place; the progressives because they wanted to see someone unhorse Lord Wyldon of Cavall._

_Francesca, who had been set away by her knight mistress stood with Alan, Fianola, Liam and their knight masters. Just as the match was about to start, Francesca said loudly._

"_Ten gold nobles says that Lord Wyldon gets unhorsed." Lord Raoul and many others nearby quickly took the bet. Alan, Fianola and Liam kept trying to catch Francesca's attention, to ask if she knew how the match would end. But Francesca kept her gaze and focus on the match._

_In the first pass, both lances shattered. Before accepting their next lances both knights shook out their arms. When the signal came, the two thundered down the field towards each other. They crashed together, and one of the knights seemed to waver in their seat. Each received a new lance for the final pass. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. The last time these two knights had jousted, Keladry of Mindelan had been a squire, and Lord Wyldon, who unhorsed _everyone,_ had not unhorsed the female squire. The signal came, and on rushed to two mounts, carrying their knights towards each other._

_There was a splintering crash, the crowd watched as both horses danced to keep their riders in the saddle. Slowly, as though he was falling through molasses, Lord Wyldon of Cavall, slipped from his saddle. After a minute more a struggling, the lady knight found her balance, and looked towards her former training master, who was now picking himself up from the ground next to his mount._

_The sound – both cheers and shouts of disbelief – was deafening._

Francesca was grinning as the vision ended, and wondered if she should tell her new knight mistress about it. She decided against it – telling someone about certain event in their future, could sometimes affect the outcome.

* * *

The next day, Francesca began training with her knight mistress. After three runs on the tilting field, Francesca found herself looking up at the sky.

'I'm flying,' was her only thought before she slammed into the ground. As she tried to get her breath back something large, white and soft nudged her face. She sat up she saw her horse. At the other end of the tilting lane she saw a knight – both of them were wearing padding a glance around revealed that they were on the practice courts.

"Feel up to another go?" the knight called out.

"Sure," Francesca muttered. "My family already thinks I'm insane – might as well prove them right."

Standing, Francesca remounted Snowstorm, and mentally prepared herself for another pounding. After several more rounds – and more time gazing at the sky – Lady Keladry told her to see to Snowstorm and to get lunch. As she reached the stables, Francesca glanced back at the field, she saw her knight mistress speaking with the handsome sergeant Domitan, from the King's Own. Remembering the short conversations she's had with the man, and the vision concerning the sergeant and lady knight, Francesca smiled slightly, idly wondering when that particular vision would come to pass.

The next day, Francesca rose at dawn with her knight mistress. Days ago, when the lady knight had discovered Francesca's habitual dawn workout, she'd seemed both surprised and pleased, today she'd invited the girl along to the glaive practice between the queen, the princess, and Lady Keladry. Having never used the weapon, Francesca was weary, at best. At the same time, she was eager to learn the strange weapon – eager to learn whatever she could from Lady Keladry.

As the day drew on, Francesca spared with Liam, whose knight master had returned to the palace. Upon returning to her room after, Francesca found Jump and Rain lying on the bed, curled up together. If that wasn't shocking enough, the dog continued shot looked at the door connecting her room to her knight mistress, which was slightly open. At first, Francesca heard nothing from the other room, then as she was about to remove her boots, she heard muffled voices. After a moment's hesitation, Francesca moved to the door. She knocked on it lightly and called to her knight mistress. She came to the door quickly, her face slightly pink.

Francesca opened her mouth to ask about the second voice she'd heard – and the knight's pink cheeks, when peering around the knight, she saw Sergeant Domitan; his face was also slightly flushed. A knock on the knight's door, made all three jump. Francesca hurried to her door. Sir Nealan was in the hallway, knocking on lady Kel's door.

"She's not there, my lord." Francesca told him, the knight turned and asked where she was and when she'd be back. Francesca responded that she wasn't sure, and promised that she would inform her knight mistress of his visit.

Turning to face her room, lady Kel watched her with a mildly surprised look. Francesca looked at the ground for a moment, and shrugged. "I thought that you might want to…" she hesitated for a moment. "Well, it's your business, not anyone else's."

Somehow, that night set a pattern, the sergeant and Lady Kel began to court in secret, it seemed that someone always came looking for one or the other when they were together, so Francesca took to making excuses and misdirecting them, to help the couple keep their secret.

Over the next few weeks, Lady Kel took every opportunity to let Francesca practice various weapons against other knights. As fall came to a close and winter began, Francesca and her knight mistress headed up north. The ride was pleasant, and in a little over a week, Francesca, and her knight mistress arrived at the thriving town of New Hope.


	17. New Hope

A/N: Well, my darling readers, a little present for all of you on my birthday. Enjoy!

Thanks: sarafine-ecleips: Maybe it is, but who's gonna call her on it. xshynenstarx; Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked it. Babyuknowme13.

Upon their arrival at New Hope, Francesca was both severely scrutinized, and completely ignored. The headwoman was an elder lady with a sharp, no-nonsense air, named Fanche. Her gaze raked Francesca from head to toe, the girl quickly dismounted. She did not hide, per say, but Francesca did use the bulk of Night and Snowstorm to draw less attention to herself. The moment it was announce that the lady knight was in the thriving town, she was bombarded by children.

Carefully moving closer, Francesca took Hoshi's and Peachblossom's reins. The large gelding put his ears back slightly, but did not fight her as Francesca led the four horses to the stables. On her way there, a child caught her eye. A young girl, a bit younger than ten, was watching her, instead of rushing to greet Lady Kel. Looking at the girl, it was her eyes that told Francesca that this was the seer child, Irnai that her knight mistress had mentioned before. The girl's eyes where ancient – eyes that had seen much.

Francesca inclined her head slight to the girl, and continued on the way to care for the mounts. She ignored the teenagers, young men and women, who peered at her, and whispered. Francesca was used to such treatment, so it didn't bother her. Several stared at her in outright shock, as they watched her calmly unsaddle and groom Peachblossom.

With the help of her knight mistress, Stefan – the palace's chief hostler – and Tobe, Peachblossom was convinced to allow Francesca to groom, saddle or unsaddle him, so long as she was respectful towards him. She was just finished seeing to the horses, and was about to start on the tack, when Lady Keladry entered the stables. She seemed mildly amused at seeing Francesca methodically cleaning the tack for all four horses. Lady Keladry took her tack and began to clean it, as Francesca moved on to cleaning her own.

When they finished, Francesca followed her knight mistress to the main building, where rooms had been prepared for both of them. Francesca was glad that – for the most part – people seemed to think that she was unworthy of their attention. The inhabitance of New Hope seemed to have decided to throw a party for Lady Kel's arrival, and so Francesca found herself in the mess hall sitting next to the young seer Irnai. At first they did not speak to each other. The child was the one to break the silence.

"How will you stop it," Francesca stared at her for a moment, and then sighed.

"I have no clue," she didn't bother to ask what the girl spoke of. She knew; this young child knew of the prophecy she'd received.

"Time's running out," Irnai told her solemnly.

"I'm aware," Francesca found herself looking around constantly, making sure that no one would over hear the conversation.

Later, when her knight mistress chose to retire, Francesca was only too happy to follow her out of the mess hall.

"You didn't talk to many people," the lady knight commented.

"No, my lady," Francesca replied, a bit shocked that she'd noticed.

"Did you speak with Irnai," her knight mistress inquired. "I saw the two of you sitting together."

"We spoke briefly," Francesca admitted.

"Most people are unnerved by her," Kel stated.

"Which is why I never wanted anyone to know about…"

Both of them walk in silence for a moment. "That scene with your parent's after the big exam," Kel began. "It was not the first such scene; was it?"

"No," Francesca said quietly. "Not every family is happy, my lady."

"And yours was not a happy one?"

"It had its moments," was Francesca's only reply. She wasn't looking for pity. She'd known for years that she was not a priority in her family. Just a daughter - and not even an obedient one. She was eighteen; she wasn't going to whine about her life, especially not to her knight mistress.

* * *

They'd been at New Hope for almost two weeks before Francesca was put in a position that forced her to interact with the headwoman and other high ranking men and women in the town. Upon her arrival, the lady knight had resumed helping with weapons lessons for the children. Usually Francesca help, but on this particular day, her knight mistress had ordered her to report to Fanche until farther notice.

Walking with heavy steps, Francesca sought out the older woman after breakfast. She found her giving orders to a mixed group of men and women. Standing close but out of the way, Francesca waited, Fanche noticed her almost at once.

"What," demanded the woman with a fierce scowl. Francesca moved a bit closer and bowed to the head woman.

"Mistress Fanche, my knight mistress has ordered me to report to you." She saw the shock on the faces of the town's people – a noble bowing to a commoner was unheard of, but in this case, Francesca felt it was right. Until such time that her knight mistress ordered otherwise, she was to repot to this woman, thus Fanche was her superior.

"No," the woman told her shortly, turning back to the others that gathered around her.

"She's just prickly because she doesn't like nobles who don't behave the way she thinks they will," an older man told her with a kind smile. Lady Kel had introduced him as Seafas.

"If that's the case, maybe I should introduce her to my family," Francesca mused aloud.

"Are they as odd as Lady Kel?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Only my oldest brother, but he's in the King's Own, so I don't think that counts."

"Is that why she told you to report to Fanche, to prove that you're one of the good sort?"

Francesca shrugged. "It's not my place to question orders, even it only to understand, Master Seafas." During the entire exchange she kept her gaze fixed across the camp, looking at no one and nothing.

Streams of curses flew from Fanche, drawing everyone's attention. A woman with bulging muscles stood next to Fanche, hands on her hips.

"I certainly can't tell her not to have her babe today! So you might as well stop complaining," she told Fanche, sounding exasperated.

Fanche scowled at the people around her. When her gaze landed on Francesca her scowl deepened. "You, girl," she barked. Francesca walked over and waited.

She was ordered to go with the woman, who was a laundress. Francesca followed the woman without a word and did as ordered for the day. The next day the scene played out again, almost exactly the same way, until Francesca was sent to clean latrines. Each day, Francesca was given a different duty, some days, she was sure that Fanche was _trying _to make her refuse. The older woman never did seem to warm up to her, but that was fine by Francesca, she didn't mind quietly doing the work as ordered. It gave her time to think.

* * *

Fanche scowled as she watched the squire walk towards the latrines without a word of argument. As soon as the crowd dissipated, she went in search of the lady knight. She was with a group of the children; she made a gesture to wait and finished the class before walking over to where Fanche stood in the shade.

"Is something wrong," she asked, taking a drink from her flask.

"Are you punishing the girl," Fanche demanded. "I can only give her latrine duty for so long."

A smile tugged at the knight's mouth. She motioned for Fanche to follow her to the top of the wall. From there they watched Francesca as she worked with the others scheduled for cleaning latrines. "I'm not punishing her. Why, has she been disrespectful to anyone?"

Fanche snorted. "She barely speaks and when she does she's more polite than you are to my lord Wyldon. The girl _bowed_ to me," Fanche said the word like a curse.

"Good," the lady nodded firmly.

"Why," curiosity crept into Fanche's voice as they watched Francesca work with, but slightly apart from the others.

"Her family – her mother especially – is a piece of work," Keladry said dryly. "In my experience, nobles usually take after their families. I'd like to know early on if she takes after her mother in any way."

"Irnai seems to like her." Seafas commented as he walked towards them. At that moment, the young girl, who'd been staying close to Francesca turned and ran flat out toward the wall, she looked panicked.

Racing up the wall, Irnai panted as she reached them. "Bandits…coming…west." Seafas helped the girl drink as the lady knight call the alarm.

Fanche still looking towards the camp noted the way the squire's gaze followed Irnai and how she started moving toward the headquarters before the girl had finished speaking. She pushed the issue to the back of her head and ran to grab her bow. She saw the squire quickly arming up lady Kel, then herself, before rushing to the stables, a short while later she exited leading the knight's horse and her own. When the bandit erupted from the west woods, the defenders at New Hope were ready. The battle was quick and bloody, the bandits were the only casualties, and the worst wound on the town's side was received by the lady knight – a graze from an arrow on the arm.

Looking around, Fanche saw the knight and squire by one of the wells, walking over she heard the girl tell the knight.

"They'll be disappointed to have missed the fight," she looked like she was going to add more, but caught Fanche out of the corner of her eye and fell silent.

Fanche turned over the statement in her head, but otherwise pretended that she'd heard nothing. The squire was sent with a group of others to burn the dead. When they were alone Fanche asked the knight.

"Who was she talking about? Them that missed the fight?"

"The Third Company of the King's Own is headed this way," Kel told her, seeing the scowl on the head woman's face she added. "They'll be camping outside the walls and hunting for their own food." Fanche snorted, but said nothing.

* * *

Francesca labored with a hand full of others, not at all happy about the fact that she was hauling dead bodies. Every one stopped when they heard the approach of horses, but started working when the horn call for friend sounded. Francesca watched the approaching group out of the corner of her eyes. It'd been a while since she'd seen Alan, so she was happy for the chance to see her friend.

When the funeral pyre for the dead bandits was finally burned out, Francesca trudged wearily back to New Hope, knowing that she stunk of death, and wanting a bath. Upon entering the town, it was clear that the inhabitance knew at least one of the squads, as the towns people laughed and joked with the men.

Upon entering the headquarters building, Francesca began to silently curse – she'd forgotten to pay attention to all details of a vision. Not only did Lord Raoul, his wife, Sergeant Domatin and her knight mistress sit there, but Sir Nealan, Sir Merric, Lady Alanna and her husband as well. Francesca didn't even get a chance to _think_ about hiding or slipping away, because almost as soon as she entered, Fianola and Alan spotted her. Their greeting naturally drew all attention to her. Francesca felt her face burn, and looked at the floor. Bowing she reported to her knight mistress.

"The funeral pyre is finished, my lady," she told the ground. Rain butted the back of her knee, surprising Francesca a bit. Since they arrived in the north, Rain had all but disappeared, staying mainly in the woods. The moment her knight mistress told her she could go, Francesca fled from the room of important knights. A bath didn't rid the smell of death from her skin, or if it did, then the scent was burned into her nose. Carefully, Francesca applied just enough perfume – a gift from Aisha – to disguise the scent, at least a bit.

Slipping out of the building without being seen was as impossible as it was to enter, but thankfully, she was inform that since the other squires had been released from duty, she was as well. She fled to the top of the wall, to get away from everyone. Her friends found her there. Alan, Fianola and Traver – who was Sir Merric's squire – greeted her with teasing about still being shy. She glared at them, but otherwise said nothing. She was happy to see them.

Finally, when the teasing was over, Fianola asked how she was doing with the famed lady knight as her knight mistress – there was clear envy in her voice.

"It's an education, that's for sure." Francesca told them dryly. More hesitantly, she added. "I told her about…being a seer."

They talked about a lot of things as night fell; as the hour grew later they all began to yawn. Finally by mutual unspoken agreement, the four friends headed to their respective beds. At the bottom of the wall, they were stopped by Irnai. The young girl was standing at the bottom of the steps, clearly waiting for them. She observed them with her too-old eyes for a long moment, before turning to look only at Francesca.

"You should tell them," the girls' voice thrummed with power. Francesca felt the hair on her arms stand on end. This was not the child speaking to her. "They may be the answers to your questions." The girl gave Francesca a small sweet smile, before her eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted. Francesca leapt forward to catch the girl before she fell completely to the ground. She did not catch Irnai in time, instead Lady Keladry caught the girl, Francesca did not even notice her knight mistress's companions, instead she knelt by the young seer. When a glowing purple hand reached to touch the girl forehead, Francesca spoke before she thought.

"She's fine, just exhausted from being a mouth-piece." Francesca glanced up at the people around her and discovered that they were all staring at her. She flushed, realizing that she'd just drawn more attention to herself than she ever meant to.

"How are you so sure, youngling," Baron Cooper asked.

"My grandmother's a seer," Francesca admitted, highly uncomfortable. "I've seen it happen to her before.

Glancing at her knight mistress, Francesca saw that the woman understood that the message had been for her, and would likely question her later. With a few suggestions, Francesca soon found herself back in the room assigned to her – it was truly little more than a closet that adjoined her knight mistress's rooms. Thankfully Francesca tumbled into her bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Dawn the next morning saw Francesca and her knight mistress practicing weapons. As the rest of the town began to wake, Kel stopped and looked at Francesca. She didn't say anything, but her look was enough. She wanted answers, and she may as well as order Francesca to speak.

"A few years back, I had a prophecy," Francesca told her with great reluctance. "Something that I have to stop, but I don't know how. I certainly can't kill – " Francesca bit off the last words. She couldn't finish the sentence. Though she was cautious around him, she'd never seen Master Numair do or say anything that made her hate or even dislike him. It turned her stomach to think that she might have to kill the man to save everyone.

And yet, in the prophecy, it was the black robe mage that slaughtered half the Tortallan court.

"Anyway," Francesca cleared her throat. "I haven't really told anyone." She gave the knight a sheepish look, not quite managing a smile. "It kind of frightened me witless."

For a long time the knight was silent, absorbing what Francesca had told her. "I would have thought," Keladry said slowly. "That you'd be used to it by now; visions, prophecies," she shrugged, indicating that they seemed to be the same.

"They're very different," Francesca told her. "While I may dislike my visions, I can deal with them. Prophecies are much…more." Francesca told her, searching for a way to explain it. "Prophecies are like the gods or an elemental…screaming in your ear. Your entire… self, vibrates with the – the power-or…" the girl shook herself, frustrated that she couldn't explain properly.

Her knight mistress stared at her for a moment, face unreadable. When she nodded and began to walk towards the mess hall, Francesca guess that it meant that she accepted what she'd been told.

* * *

Later in the day, since she was now, no longer the only squire in the thriving town, she spared with Alan. Perhaps she imagined it, but Francesca could have sworn that when Sir Merric – whom was given control of all the squires for the day – suggest/order her to spar with Alan, he and her other friends winced a bit. Surly, she told herself, they didn't think about the sparing incident, which resulted in them all learning about her visions.

As they circled each other, Alan muttered to her. "My Da found her," at first Francesca had no clue what he was talking about. "How'd you know where to look?" She realized that he spoke about his sister as she blocked a slice to her middle and swiped at his legs.

She made a face and replied, "I'd rather not say, I broke a promise to myself doing it."

She didn't reply to the confused look he gave her. They traded blow for a while. He was still the superior swordsman, but Francesca had more endurance than he did, and if she could fend off his attacks for long enough, he'd make a mistake that she could use to her advantage.

"My Da thinks that you know something," Alan admitted, panting a bit.

"I know lots of things," Francesca responded flippantly, shooting him a cheeky grin.

"About Aly, and how he got a mysterious note telling him where to start looking," he told her, his tone scolding her slightly.

Francesca stumbled slightly in shock, but recovered quickly. "How," she hissed at him, pressing her attacks to cover the stumble.

"I didn't tell him anything," Alan told her, grimacing. "I'm just trying to warn you."

Her muttered thanks were covered by his cursing as she neatly disarmed him. Both panting, the pair accepted flasks of water and gulped them down. As they traded places with Fianola and Traver, Francesca realized that Sir Merric was not their only audience. Both Buri and Baron Cooper leaned idly against the fence watching the squires.

"Your Ma taught you to watch against that," the baron told his son, as Buri cackled. Francesca silently agreed, the move she'd used to disarm her friend had been so basic that even first year pages could block it most of the time. She'd been shocked that it had actually worked.

Alan flushed slightly but didn't reply. Francesca, who'd been feeling safe from notice up to that point jumped slightly when the woman spoke to her.

"You fight quite well. Do you have some hidden talent in a different weapon, like your knight mistress?" It was Francesca's turn to flush. She bowed and muttered thanks and that she didn't.

Part way through Fianola and Traver's match, Francesca's attention was caught by shouts coming from the part of the town where the chickens were kept. They all looked over to see what caused the noise. Traver and Fianola stopped dead to stare open mouthed. The three adults began to laughed, sounding half shock. Alan took one look at Francesca's face, and doubled over laughing.

Rain ran towards them; with him, he half dragged a flapping chicken that screamed in protest. As the bobcat ran by, townspeople stopped to stare, as though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. When Rain stopped in front of Francesca, he settled down to eat it. Snatching the bird from his claws, she barely dodged a swipe from him.

"If I didn't know better," she told the bobcat in complete exasperation. "I'd say that you do this so that I will scold you. I told you before; the animals in these walls are not here for snacks or playthings. If you're that hungry, go hunting in the woods; you _do_ know how." He glared at her and leapt at the chicken, which she still held. "This is exactly why people think you're a pet," she grumbled as she moved the chicken away from harm. Stop, Shakith curse you," hearing a smothered laugh, Francesca turned her scowled upwards, and found that the crowd had grown _much_ larger. Clearly everyone found it amusing to see a squire scolding a bobcat. Instead of pretending to be pitiful and helpless, Rain hissed at the watchers, clearly displeased.

Her knight mistress stood next to Fanche, the head woman looked as though Francesca was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out. In her mind, that was worse, because it often meant that the person would pay _more_ attention to her; something Francesca hated. Knowing her face was beet red; Francesca stared at the ground and traded Rain for the chicken. She gave it a nudge to get it moving and let the weight and warmth of the bobcat sooth her a bit. He twisted in her arms a bit, so that he was staring at the crowd, and began to purr.

Now that the show was over, most of the crowd dispersed. Unfortunately, Francesca's sense of being watched remained. She debated looking around, but decided to instead pretend that she was invisible. It had never worked before, but she lived in hope that it would one day. Traver and Fianola, either by some command that she missed, or because they were wonderful friends, who wanted to help take the attention off of Francesca, resumed sparing; she could have kissed them she was so grateful.

Francesca had finally relaxed when Lord Raoul announced that he'd like to see how well all of the squires jousted. All four of them trotted to the stables to saddle the horses. Francesca saddled Peachblossom before Snowstorm, just as Alan saddled his knight master's horse first as well. The other knights, it seemed, decided _against_ jousting with either the lady knight or her former knight master.

It seemed like hours later, after all of the squires had received a through pounding from both knights that they were freed for the rest of the day. As they trudged away, Francesca overheard them talking.

"While I enjoy watch anyone but myself getting beaten with sticks," Sir Nealan drawled. "Is there a reason why _both_ of you pounded my squire?"

"There's a tournament in a few weeks," Francesca heard her knight mistress reply. "I want to make sure I haven't gotten rusty."

She didn't hear who replied or what was said. Despite how tired she was, Francesca found a large grin spreading across her face. Perhaps she would earn some money in a few week.


End file.
